


Chipped

by Rosawyn



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angry Erik, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Beast Hank, Big Mutant Family, Bigotry & Prejudice, Books, Brotherhood of Mutants, Canon Jewish Character, Canon LGBTQ Female Character, Canonical Character Death, Charles is a Tease, Chess, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Choices, Drugs, Erik has Feelings, Erik is a Sweetheart, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, F/M, Fear, First Impressions, First Meetings, Friendship, Gift Giving, Hank Being Awesome, Holding Hands, Hurt Charles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jewelry, Kissing, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), Literal Sleeping Together, Loss of Powers, M/M, Manipulation, Medicine, Memories, Minor Character Death, Morning Sex, Multi, Mutant Powers, Mutant Pride, Mutation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Erik, Protective Erik, Relationship Advice, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Science, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Tails, Technology, Telepathy, Teleportation, Unconsciousness, Unethical Medicine, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magneto's fledgling Brotherhood find Charles Xavier in a mutations research lab as an apparently willing subject for an experimental suppression device.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Means of Control

**Author's Note:**

> I really should give a very grateful shout-out to the extremely talented [EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J) who's tireless beta work has helped me immensely.

The mutant experimentation lab was unnervingly empty. Magneto and his Brotherhood had dispatched the guards with little trouble—these things might actually be difficult if the humans ever invented guns that weren't made of metal—but by the time they had reached the lab proper, it seemed the researchers had escaped, leaving three dead mutants in various states of dissection on metal tables. The strong smell of hospital-type disinfectant did little to mask the stench of blood and death in the air. One of the bodies was of a child who couldn't have been older than five, and when Angel saw what was left of him she covered her mouth with both hands as though to hold in her screams. Magneto understood; he was fighting down the urge to vomit himself.

"Oh God, Erik," Mystique said, putting an arm around Angel whose agonized, keening cries were muffled against her friend's blue, scaly shoulder. There was such horror in Mystique's wide, golden eyes. "We were too late."

Magneto put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Mystique's shoulder, clenching his jaw. As their leader, perhaps they expected him to say something inspiring, something that would make all of this seem less bleak, less pointless, less like a complete and total failure on their part to protect even the most innocent and helpless of their kind. Maybe Magneto wasn't a very good leader, because he couldn't think of a damn thing.

“Are they _all_ dead?” Beast's voice, low and choked, drew Magneto's attention to where his furry blue associate stood in the doorway.

“Dead,” Darwin said from behind Beast, “and the monsters responsible for it escaped!” Turning, he viciously kicked one of the metal tables, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Looking up at Beast as she gently stroked Angel's dark hair, Mystique sounded very young as she asked, “Why would they _kill_ them?”

Beast shook his head, looking down as he shuffled his large, hairy feet. It had only been half a year ago that they'd found Beast in a similar facility, dehydrated, half-starved, wounded, and restrained—but _alive—_ and his admission that he had been a researcher himself, concealing his own mutation while trying to find a way to “cure” himself—before accidentally triggering his current appearance—did make him the most likely member of their group to understand how a mutant researcher's mind might work. Of course Beast—back when he was just Hank McCoy—had never killed anyone, had only ever experimented on himself, in fact.

Magneto just wanted to get out, to get away. The lab reminded him far too much of Doktor Schmidt's experiments when he himself was a child, when he was just Erik, just a boy who wasn't good enough to save his own mother. Today, he still wasn't good enough, hadn't been good enough to save anyone.

Pushing past Beast in a way he hoped wasn't too rude, Magneto forced himself to make one final circuit of the place, one final check that they hadn't missed anyone or anything important before giving the order to head back to their base. Azazel stood in the middle of the main room, red devil-tail twitching from one side to the other, ready to teleport everyone home at his leader's order.

There was something...beyond a set of double doors Magneto hadn't noticed before, down a dim hallway...a metal doorknob was moving, jiggling slightly, as though it were locked and someone were trying to open it from the other side. Quite near the doorknob, there was another bit of moving metal that drew his attention. Considering its location relative to the doorknob, it would have to be on whomever was moving the doorknob—some form of jewelry, a necklace or earring, but it seemed somehow too...complex. And the alloy was one he didn't recognize.

What was clear was that there was someone here, someone still alive. One of the researchers, perhaps, but... Erik found himself outside the door, heart beating with a terrible hope. A stab of irrational fear lanced through him and he took a steadying breath before using his power to unlock the door and swing it open.

What Erik noticed first were the eyes, blue and brilliant, staring at him. The owner of said eyes looked entirely human, but he wasn't dressed like a researcher and instead was wearing the same sort of thin drawstring pants and pale beige v-neck shirt outfit that they’d found on the dead mutants. Unlike them, he was very much alive, if somewhat shaky, as he pushed his floppy brown hair out of his pale boyish face with one hand.

“Oh hello,” the boy was saying, flashing a grateful smile. “The door must have jammed somehow. I was a little worried, since no one was answering my calls.” He gestured to a call button much like those used in actual hospitals which lay on what appeared to be a regular hospital bed against the back wall of the small room. “I'm Charles, Charles Xavier.” He held out a hand, so Erik shook it.

“Erik,” Magneto replied. “Erik Lehnsherr, though most people know me as Magneto.”

Charles smiled pleasantly. “Do you mind if I call you Erik?”

“Not at all.” Magneto was just realizing with confused horror that the strange piece of complex, unfamiliar metal he'd been sensing was actually _inside_ Charles' head. Having to be one hundred percent sure, Erik took Charles by the shoulders and turned him so he could inspect the back of his neck, sucking in a sharp breath when he saw the recently closed incisions there.

“It seems to be healing well,” Charles said calmly, as though he didn't mind in the least being manhandled and inspected—and considering the circumstances, this was likely nothing compared to what he had suffered in recent days. “Doesn't itch or hurt much anymore.”

Spinning Charles around to face him once again, Magneto stared intently into those incongruously cheerful blue eyes. “What did they _do_ to you?”

Charles expression turned more serious, even apologetic. He took a breath. “It was for my mutation. A means of—of control. I—” He looked around, seeming lost. “One of the doctors could explain it to you much better than I could, but I haven't seen anyone all day. Do you happen to know why?”

“They ran away.” Erik's voice was hard. He was struggling against the renewed urge to vomit. He had encountered mutation-suppressing collars and drugs before, but if this thing in Charles' head was what he said it was, it wasn't anything he'd seen before. It was far worse. Collars could be removed and drugs wore off, but this was far more permanent. Ignoring Charles’ confused reaction to the news of the doctors' escape, Erik tried to sound less angry as he asked, “Your mutation?”

“Yes—telepathy.” Charles gave him a small, polite smile, “It was really quite inconvenient, you see. But my step-father found a solution, this procedure. It really was the best option. He...” Charles blinked a couple of times looking momentarily confused, “h-helped me.”

Erik noticed that Charles was trembling more now and that his skin looked even paler than before. Erik didn't know much about medical things, but he knew someone who did. Turning towards the door, Erik shouted, “Beast! Get in here now! We need a doctor!”

Charles looked up at him, confusion in his eyes as he wavered on his feet, and Erik caught him by the elbow to keep him up. “Sorry,” Charles said, his words a little slurred, leaning against Erik's chest. “I don't feel well.”

_I don't expect you would_ , Erik thought grimly, tightening his hold on the other mutant.

_Oh._ The unfamiliar voice in Erik's head sounded pleasantly surprised. _Most people don't know how to do that._

_What?_ Was Erik's mind playing tricks on him?

_It's me...Charles_.

“But you said...” Erik began, confused. “The suppression device...”

_It's for control_ , Charles' voice continued in his head. _I can still send and receive messages, but I don't have to shield against random thoughts anymore, and it prevents me from altering anyone's memories or...any of the rest. It really is—_ Charles’ thoughts felt as though they were wrapped in warm, fuzzy sleep as he let out a soft sigh against Erik's chest— _the best option...for everyone_.

“Sir?” Beast skidded into view through the open door, having apparently run. The hallway, Erik remembered, was quite long. Even if he didn't quite remember actually walking down it.

“He's a mutant,” Erik explained, “a telepath. They did something to him, put some sort of suppression device in his brain.” He gestured towards the incisions on the back of Charles' neck. “I think he may be going into shock.”

Beast nodded, taking Charles from Erik and guiding him to sit on the bed. “We need to keep him warm.”

The bed, for whatever implausible reason, didn't have any blankets, just a fitted sheet. Erik unhooked his cape from his shoulders and gently wrapped it around Charles' shoulders.

Charles smiled blearily at him and touched his hand. _Thank you_.

“He can still send and receive telepathic messages,” Erik said, realizing this was probably something Beast should know.

“Yeah,” Beast said, pushing his spectacles up his wide, blue nose. “I'm getting that. He was just telling me he thinks I'm the most lovely shade of blue.”

Erik shook his head, unable to suppress a small wry smile. At least the boy wasn't alarmed by Beast's appearance like so many were.

As if summoned by thoughts of alarming appearances, Azazel popped into the room at that moment with a puff of sulphuric smoke, saying, “Boss, the police.”

It was always like this; the police ignored the labs, regardless of what the researchers were doing—even if they were _killing_ their subjects—but as soon as the Brotherhood showed up to help the imprisoned mutants, the police decided _that_ was worthy of their time and energy. Nodding, Magneto turned to Beast. “Are we good to go?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied with a nod. “I can better treat him in my own lab, anyway.”

Magneto turned to Azazel. “Take the three of us first and come back for the rest.”

“As you say, Boss.” Azazel did as instructed, conveniently dropping them all off right in McCoy's lab before popping back out again.

From one lab into another one—Erik felt his skin itch, as though it were too small for his body. The familiarity of this lab, even the fact that he'd shaped most of it with his own power, did little to lessen the feeling that it was still a lab and therefore not safe.

Beast was gently arranging his compliant patient on a hospital bed—this one, Erik was savagely proud to note, actually had blankets. Looking up at Erik, he asked, “Do you want your cape back?”

Charles had his face turned so that his cheek pressed against the dark red fabric of the cape, and both hands twisted into the folds of it, seemingly quite attached to it at the moment. Erik shook his head. “Let him keep it for now.” Perhaps it would help Charles feel safe.

“I'll need to run a few tests,” Beast said, sounding apologetic. “To see what all was done to him.”

“Of course.” Erik's voice sounded terse in his own ears. “As soon as possible, I want him moved to one of the bedrooms.” It was standard Brotherhood procedure, and Magneto knew he didn't need to remind his doctor. For all that he'd worked in mutations research, McCoy had never been cruel and was actually one of the most gentle people Erik had met.

The movement of the metal on his team's outfits hovering outside the doors told Magneto that everyone was now here and accounted for. He needed to go fill everyone in, to be the leader they needed now.

As he stepped out of the lab, closing the door behind him, he was greeted by the expectant faces of his team. Well, to be fair, Azazel looked less expectant than the rest, but he already knew some of what Magneto was about to tell them. Mystique and Angel stood closer than the guys, their body language radiating eager anticipation.

Standing straight and clasping his hands behind his back, Magneto addressed his followers, “As Azazel no doubt has already told you, we did find someone alive in that laboratory today.” Mystique smiled broadly, her eyes full of hope, as Angel clutched her hand. Darwin looked relieved, his whole stance relaxing. Azazel gave no reaction at all, but he had already seen Charles. “A young mutant named Charles Xavier whom our doctor is caring for right now.”

Magneto paced a short distance to the right, then turned on his heel—had he been wearing his cape, the swirl of it with his motion would have been quite dramatic. “He appears to be in shock, which is understandable given what he has experienced at the hands of those monsters.” He paused, looking down and taking a breath before pointedly looking into each face as he continued to speak. “They performed surgery on him, implanting a mutation-suppression device _inside_ his head. We are all familiar with suppression collars, but this device will be far more difficult to deactivate or remove.” The shocked disgust on all their faces, even Azazel's, was affirming. The Brotherhood was a good group of mutants. “Now, it will take Doctor McCoy some time to determine what all was done to Mister Xavier and what all he can do to help him. In the meantime, I expect you all to do what you can to assist our doctor should he need it and also to make our guest feel as welcome as possible. The suppression device seems to be designed to block his mutation only partially—he's a telepath and still able to send and receive thought messages, but being so crippled must be quite disorienting for him, much like if Mystique could suddenly only change her hair colour or if Azazel could only teleport very short distances.”

Everyone was nodding. While he had their rapt attention, Magneto concluded, “We saw shocking evidence of humanity's brutality today. And now we know that they have devised a new threat to our kind, something worse than suppression collars or suppression drugs. We must remain ever vigilant in our fight, mutants together, protecting each other: one Brotherhood standing up against these cowardly 'researchers' who murder and mutilate children in the name of science, against the police and the government that support this brutality, against all who seek to oppress us. Together we are strong; together, we will be victorious.”

Angel clasped her hands in front of herself, eyes shining. “Yes,” she whispered. Then, louder and with a harder edge in her voice she said, “We will make them pay.”

Mystique stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek, saying, “Thank you.”

Darwin clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning and echoing Magneto's words, “Together.”

Azazel twisted his lips into a crooked smile saying, “Great speech, Boss.”

Magneto endured all of their affection and praise with patience. This is what the Brotherhood needed from him, this is what _his people_ needed from him. And today, despite the carnage they'd all witnessed, they'd rescued a mutant—just one, but every one counted. They'd done well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I need to make it quite clear that this story will never be abandoned or even be placed on hiatus—I can offer that assurance with 100% confidence. Now, how often would you like to see this updated? Please let me know and I will do my best to comply with the majority. :)
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Kurt Marko, father of Cain Marko (“The Juggernaut”), was Charles Xavier's step-father in the mainstream comics (Earth-616). To date, he has not appeared or been mentioned in the movies. (Though Cain Marko appeared in 'X-Men: The Last Stand'.)
> 
> 'Angel' here is of course Angel Salvador, as seen in 'X-Men: First Class'.
> 
> 'Doktor Schmidt' is Sebastian Shaw, also as seen in 'X-Men: First Class' where he used the alias 'Klaus Schmidt'.


	2. Safe Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is apple juice, a clipboard, and discussion of consent (probably not the sort you're thinking of, though :P).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the overwhelming response from most so far has been to update as soon as possible, I decided to go ahead and post the second chapter. Well, that and I'm just dying for you all to see Charles' pov. :D Don't expect daily updates as a rule, though; I'll probably post chapters once or twice a week.

When Charles awoke, the furry blue doctor from before was hovering over him. He reminded Charles of a teddy bear, and Charles couldn't help smiling—that so delightful a creature even existed filled Charles with elated wonder.

He'd always wanted to meet other mutants, others who, like himself, were different. He'd known they existed, of course; but actually meeting some face to face suddenly made him realize how very _alone_ he'd felt all his life. He wondered if the glimpses he remembered of a red-skinned mutant with a tail had been a dream or if he'd soon be meeting him properly as well. “I'm Charles Xavier,” he said, giving the mutant doctor a bright smile as he sat up and offered his hand to shake. “Sorry for not introducing myself when we first met; I wasn't feeling well.”

“Yes, that's understandable.” The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose with one thick finger of his other hand while accepting the handshake. Charles found the fur on the back of his hand to be delightfully soft. “I'm Hank McCoy, or 'Beast' if you'd prefer.”

Releasing his hand before he could start petting him like a cat, Charles asked, “Which do you prefer?”

Beast shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I like Hank well enough and it's what I've been called for most of my life. But Beast suits me better now, I guess.”

Without the full use of his powers, Charles was unable to sense even the other mutant's emotions while he spoke, and he found he was disconcertingly lost without that sense. Did he really have no preference for what he was called? Charles didn't want to accidentally offend him by calling him the wrong name. Perhaps empathy could have been included in his allowed powers if he'd thought to ask for it. But this must be the sort of thing all non-telepaths had to deal with every day, and they generally seemed to get by. Hoping he was guessing right, Charles finally said, “I suppose I'll call you Hank then.”

Hank nodded and Charles found himself foolishly wishing once more for his power to read emotions or even surface thoughts. Yes, it had often been quite difficult, even exhausting, to maintain shields against the unwanted deluge of _everything_ from everyone's minds, but being able to choose when to use his power rather than being entirely prevented from using it... But there was no point dwelling on what might have been. He was better off now than he had been. And the incision barely even itched anymore—he had been wise to follow the doctors' advice and not touch it.

Hank got him a glass of apple juice and a cheese sandwich from a small refrigerator and showed him where the lab's bathroom was, even providing him with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

When Charles was eating, Hank picked up a clipboard from a nearby desk and gave Charles an apologetic look. “I need to ask you a few questions. The answers will help me be able to effectively treat you, but if any question makes you uncomfortable or you would just prefer not to answer, we can skip it. Are you comfortable answering some questions now?”

Charles nodded, taking a sip of the juice. It felt wonderfully cold and was the perfect sweetness.

Hank pulled a pen from under the clip and poised it above the paper. “How old are you, Charles?”

“I'm nineteen.” He told Hank his birthday in case he needed to write that down too.

“To your knowledge, were either of your parents mutants?”

“No; neither of my parents were mutants.”

Hank wrote on the paper. “Do you have any siblings?”

“I had a twin brother, but he was born with no higher brain functions.” Charles avoided thinking about his brother and what Kurt had said about that. Everyone was safe now, anyway; the chip saw to that. “I also have a step-brother, but I assume you meant blood-related siblings.”

“I did.” Hank looked thoughtful as the pen scratched over the paper. “To your knowledge, do you have any blood relations who are mutants?”

“No.” Charles took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed, then smiled a bit self-consciously and said, “Before this, I hadn't met any mutants at all.”

Hank smiled a small, soft smile. “Well, you're among friends now.”

“Speaking of friends,” Charles suddenly remembered and gestured to the cape where it lay draped across his pillow, “I should probably give Erik his cape back.”

“Yes, and I'm sure he'll want to see you now that you're feeling better.” Hank rubbed at his nose. “He'll likely have some questions for you too.”

“Questions, of course.” Charles gestured to the clipboard. “Please, continue.”

Hank nodded. “When did your mutation first manifest?”

Charles bit his lip. “I'm not entirely sure. It was when I was very young. They—they told me it was possible it had manifested b-before birth.” Charles twisted a corner of the blanket between his fingers, staring at the edge of his plate. “I don't have any memory of before it did, at any rate.”

“How long ago did you have the surgery?”

“Five days. I think.” Time had been somewhat confused in that place, especially right after the surgery when he was still just waking up.

“And have you noticed any side effects? Anything unexpected?”

Charles shook his head. “No.” He paused in thought then added, “Well, I have seemed to be more sleepy than usual, and every so often I get a little dizzy, but that's all probably very much expected.”

Hank nodded, a small frown wrinkling his brow. Sliding the pen back under the clip, he set the paperwork aside. “I would like to take a sample of your blood for testing if that's all right.”

“Of course.” Charles had become relatively used to blood tests at this point. He was somewhat surprised at Hank's suggestion that he had a choice in the matter, since that was something he wasn't quite used to.

As Hank was readying the needle, the rubber strap pinching Charles' arm slightly where it wrapped his bicep, another person walked into the room. He was tall with dark skin and short curly black hair. “Oh hey, you're awake,” he said, giving Charles a broad, friendly smile. “I'm Darwin, by the way. I'd, uh, shake your hand, but I don't want to get in the way of the doctor there.”

Charles returned his smile. He wondered if Darwin was a mutant as well—a mutant like him who appeared outwardly human—but felt it would be quite rude to ask. “Charles Xavier, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Darwin.”

“Darwin,” Hank said, his eyes focused intently on his work. “If you could be so kind as to inform Magneto that our guest is awake, I'm sure he would be most appreciative.”

“Sure; whatever I can do to help.” Darwin turned as if to leave, then stopped. “I'm supposed to ask if you—if either of you—need anything.”

“Five billion dollars, a weekend at a high-end spa, and the complete restored contents of the Library of Alexandria,” Hank said conversationally, then lifted his head to give Darwin a wry smile, his eyes twinkling. “Just Magneto for now, thank you.”

Darwin nodded. “Yeah, but you know, books, right—I'll keep my eyes open for any of those, especially the old ones you like so much.” He grinned then shook his head. “Can't do much about the spa thing though, man; they don't even let me in unless I want to fold towels for a dollar an hour. Maybe one day we'll build our own spa.”

“Maybe one day,” Hank agreed, as he bent back to the task of drawing blood.

Turning his attention to Charles, Darwin asked, “You need anything, Charles?”

The Library of Alexandria sounded good to Charles as well, but other than that he couldn't think of a thing. “No, but thank you.”

When Hank finally pulled the needle back out of Charles' arm, it hurt worse than it had going in. That was how it usually went, though, so Charles didn't comment. He just obediently pressed the cotton ball over the spot as Hank instructed. For someone with rather impressive claws at the end of each finger, Hank was surprisingly gentle—actually, Hank was just gentle, compared to anyone. Charles didn't think he'd ever had any sort of medical professional treat him as kindly as Hank did. Perhaps that said more about the medical practice as a whole than it did about one fascinatingly unique mutant doctor.

Charles had a small band-aid over the spot where the needle had pierced his skin and was folding Magneto's cape in his lap when Magneto himself walked in.

“Erik!” Charles smiled brightly, sliding off the bed and holding the folded cape out in both hands. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow this. It really is a lovely cape.”

Erik's lips turned up at one side as he accepted the cape, shaking it out and then fastening it around his own shoulders.

“It does suit you, truly,” Charles said, apparently unable to stop himself from blurting out his thoughts. “When I was a child, I used to love to pretend I was a knight or a ranger from a storybook—they always seemed to wear capes, and they looked so dashing. But no one ever seems to wear them anymore. I mean, other than you, of course.”

But Erik didn't seem to mind Charles' impassioned outburst, simply smiling a small indulgent smile in response. Turning to Hank, he said, “Beast, Darwin tells me you have need of the great, lost Library of Alexandria. I'm afraid such miracles are beyond even me.”

“A pity,” Hank said, looking up from his microscope and sighing theatrically.

“But we could always start our own library here,” Erik offered, “this being a more or less secure location and unlikely to be overrun by any barbarian hordes any time soon.”

“An idea with merit.” Hank smiled, nodding thoughtfully.

Erik's face became more sombre. “Do you need Charles to stay in the lab any longer?”

“No, I do not.” Hank bent over his microscope, turning a dial on the side to adjust the focus. “I will need to talk to him again of course, and once I figure out how to deactivate or remove the device, it would be best to do that here, but for now, he's free to go.”

“Wait,” Charles cut in, suddenly anxious. “What do you mean, 'deactivate or remove'?”

Hank gave him a strange look. “The mutation-suppressing device they put in your head. We have to undo the damage they've done.”

Charles shook his head. “No, no, there's been a misunderstanding. Please don't—don't try to remove it or—or deactivate it.”

Erik's fingers wrapped around Charles' upper arm. They felt warm and reassuring. “Charles, they've crippled your power. This is a worse violation than collars or mutation-suppressing drugs.”

“No.” Tears stung Charles' eyes and he stubbornly blinked them away. “It's absolutely better than the drugs.”

Hank and Erik exchanged a worried look.

“The drugs wear off,” Erik said carefully.

“Not—not when you have to keep taking them,” Charles countered.

Erik frowned. “Who made you take the drugs, Charles?”

Charles shook his head, his heart painfully hammering in his chest as he pulled away and stepped backwards until he bumped into the bed. “They were frightened. And with good reason! I'm—I'm _dangerous_. I never meant—I would never _knowingly_ hurt anyone, but I could—no one should have that much power. It's better—better for _everyone_ this way.”

Exhaling, Erik shook his head. “We all learn to control our powers, Charles; we don't need some human scientist to impose a muzzle on us.”

“ _I_ do,” Charles insisted, raising his chin defiantly. “ _I_ need it. And they didn't 'impose' anything; I agreed to this. I t-told them yes.” God, he hated it when he stuttered. It made him sound weak, and he didn't remember having done it before quite recently. Realizing his teeth were chattering, Charles clenched his jaw to try to stop them, hugging his arms around himself as he suddenly felt quite cold.

“Charles,” Hank said, stepping forward. “I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want. But I couldn't remove the device right now even if you asked me to.”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated breath. “Of course we're not going to force you, Charles. And we don't have to decide anything right now either.” He took a step towards Charles, spreading his hands at his sides. “Let us give you some better clothes and a more private place to sleep. And you need to understand you're not a prisoner here; if you want to leave, if you want to go back home—”

“No!” Charles said, much too quickly, much too sharply. His heart was painfully hammering anew in his chest. He wanted to stay, to get to know these mutants, and there was nothing at home for him anyway—just a distant, disinterested mother and a step-father who... A step-father who... “He was afraid,” Charles said quietly, his voice cracking. “So very afraid. He had to—had to _protect_ his son.” Gasping, Charles screamed, “ _It wasn't wrong!_ ”

Erik gently put his hand on Charles' upper arm and said softly, “What did he do, Charles?”

Charles shook his head, hot tears spilling down his face. “He g-gave me the drugs while I was asleep.” He was trembling so violently now he could barely stand, but then Erik was holding him and everything felt so much better. He pressed himself against Erik's chest, and sobbed. He would only cry for a little while, and Kurt wasn't here to see. Erik might not understand about the chip in his head, but he was kind; he'd let Charles out of that room when all the doctors had left him there alone and he'd taken care of him when he was ill.

Erik was rubbing soothing circles on his back, his voice soft as he said, “Oh, Charles. It's going to be okay; you're safe now.”

It _was_ going to be okay; Charles couldn't hurt anyone anymore, so no one would ever need to drug him again. Not like that, never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic is roughly set in 1960, but keep in mind that it's an alternate 1960, unique from both our own history's timeline and any canon Marvel timeline. I have not made any of the characters the ages they 'should' be in 1960, nor will all the technology (mutation-suppression devices, for example), etc fit with what should exist in 1960. I'm telling a story here; not writing a history book. ;)
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> P. Xavier is Charles Xavier's brain-dead identical twin brother, appearing in 'X-Men: The Last Stand'. This is of course the twin brother Charles references here.


	3. Beautifully Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a tour, an engraving, and a hero from a storybook.

As Erik led Charles through the Brotherhood base to what would be his bedroom, Charles looked around with wide eyes. He reminded Erik of a child at the circus, completely enthralled with the sights and unashamed of showing it.

“Through here is the kitchen,” Erik explained, gesturing to the doorway. “You're free to use anything that isn't clearly marked as hands off, so long as you clean up after yourself. If you need help finding anything, just ask someone. Sometimes we'll have meals together, but schedules around here can be erratic.” With the group growing, Erik might need to make a larger table and some extra chairs. Eventually, they might need an actual dining room for group meals, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it.

Charles nodded, so Erik continued.

“And here is the main bathroom.” Erik indicated the metal door. “The showers each have a separate change area just outside, and there are cupboards with soap, shampoo, and towels. Again, clean up after yourself—once you use a towel, it's your responsibility to see that it's washed. The laundry room is here.” He indicated the door right beside the bathroom. “So it isn't even very far to walk. If there aren't any clean towels in the bathroom, check the laundry room. If there aren't any there...someone has something to answer for.” Beast had already provided Charles with a toothbrush and toothpaste, but Erik made sure he knew there were extras of those available in the bathroom as well. “If you notice we're running out of anything—laundry soap, dish soap, toothpaste, any type of food—let myself or Azazel know.” He paused. “I don't know if you've actually met Azazel yet.”

“I don't think I have.”

Erik nodded. “I'll have to introduce you. As a teleporter, he's in charge of our supply runs.”

“A teleporter.” Charles sounded awed, his eyes shining as a bright smile broke out on his face. “That's amazing—that's wonderful! I had no idea mutations like that were even possible.”

Erik shrugged. “If you want to know about the science of mutations, talk to Beast. All I know is that his teleportation is extremely useful to us.”

Charles was nodding, still apparently delighted with the idea of teleportation. “I imagine it would be.” As they reached the door of Charles' assigned room, he commented, “Most things here seem to be made of metal.”

“Most things are, yes,” Erik confirmed. “It's the most convenient material for construction, due to my mutation.”

“Your mutation?” Charles sounded intrigued.

“Metal manipulation,” Erik said, swinging the door open with his power.

Laughing with surprise and delight, Charles turned a blinding smile on him and said, “That's amazing! That's wonderful, Erik!”

One corner of Erik's mouth turned up. “Thank you. It is quite convenient at times.” _Much as telepathy would be, I imagine._

Charles' face grew suddenly sombre, and he looked down. _That's different_.

Erik let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand before gesturing to the open doorway. “This will be your room. As you can see, the bed is already made up, but you can find extra pillows, blankets, sheets, and the like on shelves in the laundry room. There is some clothing in the chest of drawers, but we'll pick up some more in your size on our next supply run. If you're going to come on field missions with us, you'll need a proper outfit for that too.” _All our mutations are different, Charles_.

Stepping into the small, utilitarian room and looking around, Charles said, “The room is lovely, Erik; thank you.” Then Charles sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, and clasping his hands in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. “My mutation...without the chip, Erik, I couldn't turn it off. I had to constantly focus on blocking everything out; it was exhausting. And...feeling their fear—that was the hardest part, knowing it was me they feared. Fear isn't a good feeling, but of course you know that.”

“I do know that.” Sighing, Erik sat in the metal chair by the desk. “And though I've never had to feel anyone else's fear, I think I can imagine something of how terrible that must have been.”

Charles nodded, then looked up at Erik with a weak smile. _You're very good at sending your thoughts to me, Erik. I've found with a lot of people—_ _all of the doctors at the lab, so everyone I interacted with since the surgery—_ _the message is either garbled or just too 'loud', the mental equivalent of shouting, but you...you're different_.

Erik shrugged. _I really have no idea how I managed it; I wasn't even trying the first time, since I_ _expected the suppression device to completely disable your power_.

_Well however you do it_ , Charles thought, smiling, _I'm glad of it—it's nice_.

_I'm glad as well_. Erik took his hand and squeezed it once before releasing it. _Your mutation is a beautiful thing, Charles_.

“It's a dangerous thing,” Charles whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Many mutations are,” Erik answered carefully.

Charles shook his head, still looking down. “I doubt powers like teleportation or blue fur are capable of killing anyone.”

“Not teleportation in and of itself, no, but Azazel can be...creative—he teleports an enemy far above the ground and then drops them.” Erik smiled appreciatively at the memories. It's not like he'd ever seen Azazel do that to anyone who didn't deserve it. “And Beast's mutation includes physical strength that would allow him to strangle most people with _one hand_.” Charles looked alarmed, so Erik clarified, “Not that he ever does, of course; he takes that 'first, do no harm' thing quite seriously.”

“More seriously than most doctors,” Charles said softly.

_Indeed_ , Erik thought grimly.

“I didn't mean this,” Charles clarified quickly, gesturing to the incision.

“Neither did I.” Erik shook his head, grimacing. “I do consider what they did to you harm, but...Charles, we found three other mutants in that facility; all of them were dead.”

“Oh.” A bleak mixture of horror and disbelief washed across Charles' face. “I—maybe they were accidents, surgery gone wrong; it happens to even the best doctors at times. There are always risks...”

“That's not what we saw there, Charles.” Erik pressed his hands to his eyes, hating the images his memory was bringing to the surface. “They were being dissected.”

Charles swallowed, his eyes wide and glistening. “Perhaps they were already dead...died elsewhere, and then brought to the lab...”

“Perhaps,” Erik allowed, though it seemed very unlikely. “But even if that were true, that was not a respectful way to treat anyone's remains.” Erik closed his eyes against the memories, _all_ of the memories swirling to the surface and clamouring for attention. Taking a steadying breath, he willed himself back to the present. “One of them was a young child.”

Looking sick, Charles shook his head as if denying it could make it less true. “I—I had no idea, Erik. The doctors I saw, the ones I spoke to...they—I didn't think they'd be capable of...” Charles swallowed, shaking his head and glancing down again before looking back up into Erik's eyes. “They weren't exactly _kind_ , but I could never have imagined they were _killing children_ in the next room either.”

“Many people are quite skilled at concealing their evil, Charles.” Erik ran a hand over his face. “And justifying it to themselves.”

Charles nodded, taking a shaky breath. _I know_.

Erik smiled sadly. _I suppose you would...better than most_.

_It's different now_ , Charles admitted. _I think perhaps I was too depend_ _e_ _nt on my mutation. It made some things far too easy for me_.

Erik shook his head, unable to suppress a wry smile. “Weren't you just telling me how inconvenient, how exhausting your mutation was?”

Charles looked somewhat chastened. “I suppose I was. But my power was...well, it was complicated? It made some things far too easy, but that came at a terrible price.” He looked away. “If you knew you were capable of killing people, innocent people, entirely without intending to do so, wouldn't you want some way to stop that? Some way to keep everyone safe?”

Erik sighed, leaning forward in the chair and rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I actually _am_ capable of killing innocent people without intending it—my power is very much tied to my emotions, and if I lose control, any metal near me can be affected in quite...chaotic ways. To my knowledge, I have never killed anyone I didn't intend to kill, but the possibility has always been there. And no,” he said, looking pointedly into Charles' eyes, “I would not want to have a suppression device to prevent that, _especially_ not one I couldn't remove.” He paused, allowing his expression to soften somewhat. “The answer isn't allowing humanity to cripple us; it's learning to control our own power for ourselves. For some of us that is admittedly a more difficult struggle, but that's why the Brotherhood exists—mutants together, protecting each other.”

Charles was staring at him as though at some wonder. Finally, he shook himself a little, looking down at his hands, then smiled self-consciously, glancing back at Erik. “'Protecting each other'; I like that. I hope I can find some way to help.”

Smiling softly while rising and placing a reassuring hand on Charles' shoulder, Erik said, “I'm sure you will.” Walking to the door, Erik asked, “Would you like me to write your name here?” He gestured to the metal surface. “Most of us have our names on our doors.” He paused, thinking. “Actually, all of us do, other than you of course. I can write it however you'd like.”

“With your power?” Charles smiled excitedly, bouncing to his feet and coming closer.

Erik nodded.

Charles' smile grew brighter. “That would be lovely.”

“So, 'Charles Xavier', or do you want just the first name? Just the last name? Middle name or initial?”

“Oh, um.” Charles smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “'Charles Xavier' would be perfect.”

“I can do different sorts of lettering too—whatever you like.”

“Oh.” Charles ducked his head. “It doesn't really matter; I wouldn't want to ask for something too difficult.”

“Nonsense; I enjoy a challenge.” Erik gave him his most confident grin.

Charles flashed a shy smile at him. “Can I—I've not actually tried to show anyone images since the...the operation, but could I try?”

“Of course.” That would make this much easier. And why did Charles think he needed to _ask_?

_Let me know when...if you see it_. Charles' brow wrinkled slightly in concentration. After a moment, an image appeared in Erik's mind of Charles' name written in archaic calligraphy-style lettering with both the 'C' and the 'X' intricately illuminated.

_I see it. That's beautiful._

_Can you do it?_ Charles' voice in Erik's mind sounded hesitant, apologetic. _It doesn't have to be exactly like that_.

_I'll do it_. Erik was determined to get it exactly as Charles wanted. _Can you hold that image in my mind for me?_

_I'll try_. Charles held the image and Erik transferred it onto the door.

_How's that look?_ Erik regarded Charles, trying to gauge his reaction. He was fairly certain he'd gotten the image exactly as Charles had shown him, but the size or location might be off.

Blinking wonderingly at the completed inscription, Charles stepped forward, raising one hand to brush his fingertips over the letters. “That's wonderful,” he whispered. Then, turning to Erik he said, “That's amazing, Erik! Your ability is truly...incredible.”

_Your ability helped_ , Erik pointed out gently.

Ducking his head, Charles admitted, _Yeah, I guess it did_. Then, raising his head and smiling cheerfully, he said, “I did that with the chip in my head, Erik. Perhaps I'm not so crippled as you think.”

Chuckling softly, Erik shook his head. “Perhaps not.” He reached out and gently took Charles' chin in his fingers. “I wonder if you know how adorable a lab rat you are, Charles.”

Looking slightly affronted, Charles huffed, swatting Erik's hand away and raising an incredulous eyebrow. “Lab rat?”

“I've been a lab rat,” Erik answered, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I know one when I see one.”

Charles gasped softly, taking a halting half-step forward. “You...what did they do to you?”

Erik sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. “They hurt me. For a very long time, they hurt me, and they wouldn't let me go—no matter how I begged.”

Charles grasped his hand, eyes glistening. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm sorry that happened to you.” And then, stepping forward, he gently wrapped his arms around Erik. As though a hug could make everything better. And maybe it could...nothing could change what had happened, but being hugged by Charles felt right and good—it made Erik _feel_ better.

Returning Charles' hug, though somewhat less gently, Erik took a few shuddering breaths. After a few moments he said, “And I'm sorry _this—_ ” He gestured to the back of Charles' neck. “—happened to _you_.” Tilting Charles' face upwards, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, thinking sincerely and forcefully, _Your mutation is beautiful; it always was_. As Erik stepped back, Charles stared up at him, his brilliant blue eyes wide—Erik could drown in those eyes far, far too easily. Clearing his throat, Erik gestured towards the room. “I'll let you get settled. If you need me, just call.” He pointed towards his temple. “Okay?”

_Okay_. Charles nodded.

_Beautiful_ , Erik thought as he allowed himself a small smile before turning to walk away.

o0o

As he watched Erik walk away, his fantastic dark red cape billowing dramatically in his wake, Charles tried to calm his beating heart. Had Erik meant that _Charles_ was beautiful? Or just his mutation? And did that—did either of those things—mean that Erik was perhaps interested in him? Charles couldn't help blushing at the thought. Erik was almost too perfect, as though some benevolent god had crafted him not only as the hero Charles needed but also the hero Charles _desired_ —the cape alone made him appear as though he'd walked off the pages of Charles' favourite childhood storybook, impossibly beautiful and beautifully impossible.

Kurt had made his opinions of homosexual relationships quite clear on several occasions, so Charles would have known of his strong disgust and irrational hatred even without having read his mind. And Mother of course would disapprove strongly of anything that reflected badly on the family, and her nineteen-year-old son consorting with a tall, brooding, chiseled-featured, devastatingly handsome man in a _cape_ would no doubt cause a scandal from which the family name would never recover. But then again, so would the knowledge that Charles himself was a mutant, were that to become public. And since neither of them were here, he told himself their opinions didn't matter. If Erik was in fact interested—and it seemed he might very well be, having called Charles both 'beautiful' and 'adorable' and also having kissed his forehead, something Charles had to admit was somehow both gloriously thrilling and wonderfully comforting—Charles was absolutely interested back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are twice a week updates okay for everyone? (It seems like a reasonable compromise between those wanting daily updates and those who think weekly would be plenty.)
> 
> And you did all notice the reference/quote from 'First Class', right?


	4. Pride and Practicality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Brotherhood gets two new guests, Charles has a headache, and Erik is unreasonable.
> 
> Or, the one in which Charles and Hank manage to seriously piss Erik off.

As Charles towelled his hair in front of the mirror after a much appreciated shower in what must be the most conveniently constructed and impressively clean communal bathroom he'd ever seen—it didn't even have that vague mouldy smell all the bathrooms at Xavier Mansion regained roughly two hours after the maid cleaned them, though that might be due in large part to this bathroom being almost entirely constructed out of metal—and dressed in simple sweatpants and t-shirt from the chest of drawers in his room, an unfamiliar person walked in behind him. He still wasn't used to people appearing before he had some sense of their presence—he really should learn to listen for footsteps like the rest of the world had to—but her friendly smile seemed indication enough that she probably wasn't a threat. That, and the fact that both Erik and Hank apparently believed the Brotherhood base to be a reasonably secure location.

She had black hair and deep brown eyes, and her sleeveless leather halter top revealed fascinating tattoos on her creamy gold skin. “Hey,” she said, smiling shyly. “I'm Angel.”

“Charles Xavier.” He shook her hand, smiling brightly. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah, uh, we were all really glad to find you yesterday.” She twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers. “And that you're feeling better now, too.”

“Thanks.” Charles smiled self-consciously, running his fingers through his damp hair. “I'm glad I was found.”

“Oh hey,” she said, opening a cupboard. “I don't know if anyone showed you, but this is where we keep the hair things—brushes, combs, pomade and the like—pick a comb or brush for yourself, or one of each, or whatever.”

“Thanks.” The cupboard held a truly impressive assortment of items, all of them obviously new. Charles chose a comb similar to the one he'd used at home.

As he styled his hair, Angel explained, “Everyone had to go on a mission—another lab—so it's just you and me here for now. It shouldn’t be long, though; maybe a couple of hours. Hank said you'd had something to eat after you woke up, but if you're hungry again now, we can see what's in the kitchen. Azazel always brings unexpected things back, so it's always a surprise.”

“Everyone else is away?” Charles slipped the comb into his pocket and turned to face Angel.

She nodded. “Once you're feeling up to it, I'm sure Magneto will want you to go on field missions with us; they're usually team things—that's the Brotherhood way, after all: 'mutants together'.”

“'Protecting each other'.” Charles remembered Erik's words from earlier.

Angel smiled broadly. “He gave you the speech?”

“I suppose he did.” One corner of Charles' mouth turned up. “I like that idea: protecting each other. I, uh,” he continued, resisting the urge to rub at the back of his neck. “I'm not exactly sure what good I'd be on a field mission, but Magneto did say something about getting me a proper outfit for those.”

She nodded, gesturing for him to walk with her. “On field missions, we have to all wear outfits with enough metal on them that he can move us if need be,” she explained as they walked through the hallways toward the kitchen. “It's one way he can protect us, though I must admit it can be a little disorienting to have your body suddenly moved around like a puppet.” She giggled. “Not necessarily a bad feeling, but it takes some getting used to.”

“I imagine it would.” Deep down, Charles had to admit that the idea of Erik moving him about like a puppet had something of an appeal. He tried not to blush at the thought. “How well do you know Erik?”

“Pretty well, I guess.” She glanced at him and smiled as they walked into the kitchen and she started looking through the cupboards. “I've been with the Brotherhood for almost a year now. I suppose Raven knows him better, since she's been with him the longest. I know it probably all feels a bit overwhelming; it did for me at first too, but he's a great man and a good guy—he really does want what's best for us.”

Charles nodded. It seemed pretty clear that Erik meant well. “Raven?”

“Mystique; Magneto's second in command.” Angel pulled a covered container out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “Oh, I think this is the kasha Erik made the other night—it's _so_ good!”

“Kasha?”

Angel opened the container and showed him the contents—it looked like some sort of casserole. “It's, um, buckwheat and pasta...onions, gravy. I think it's Polish—or Jewish...anyway, it's really good. Want some?”

“Sure.” Was Erik Jewish? Possibly Polish? Charles couldn't help being fascinated with every detail about his rescuer. The fact that he could cook was pretty cool too, especially since Charles himself could barely manage anything more complicated than a bowl of cold cereal. Growing up with servants had perhaps been somewhat akin to growing up with telepathy—it had made some things far too easy. Charles looked around the kitchen; if he was going to learn to live without the full use of his power, he might as well learn to live without servants too, and being helpful now was probably a good place to start. “Plates? Bowls?”

Angel pointed to a cupboard door above the counter next to the fridge before placing the glass container of leftover kasha in the oven. “Whichever you prefer; I usually use a plate.”

Opening the metal cupboard door, Charles saw a stack of unmatched plates on one metal shelf and two stacks of unmatched bowls on the shelf above. Taking two plates from the top of the stack, Charles asked, “Forks?”

“Drawer right in front of you.” She leaned forward and turned some knobs on the back of the stove.

Even the drawer was made of metal, as were all the cutlery inside of course. As Charles set the plates and forks on the table, he was hit with a sudden stab of pain in his head. “Ow,” he said, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs and rubbing at his temples.

“You all right?” Angel walked over, a look of concern on her face.

“Just, um, headache,” Charles managed, grimacing. “Sorry.”

“Here, I'll get you some aspirin.” She patted his shoulder before walking away.

Charles folded his arms on the metal surface of the table and rested his head on them. He'd had terrible headaches before, but they'd usually been caused by his mutation. Stupidly, he had hoped the operation would mean he'd never have to deal with this type of pain again, but of course non-telepaths had headaches too. It wasn't fun, but it was a part of life.

“Here you go.” Angel placed the aspirin and a glass of cold water on the table.

“Thanks.” He tried to give her a grateful smile as he took the glass, only to have his hand rebel and spill the water across the metal surface. Charles stared at the spilled water blankly for a moment. “Dammit.” Glancing apologetically at Angel, he said, “Sorry.”

Grabbing a towel, Angel quickly stopped the water from spreading farther. “Don't worry about it. I'll get you some more.”

Thankfully, the aspirin hadn't gotten wet. No doubt there was more of that too, but Charles would have felt guilty for wasting it. He swallowed the aspirin with the second glass of water, holding it very carefully so he wouldn’t spill it again. “I don't know what's wrong with me; I never used to be so clumsy.”

Angel sat down in a chair around the corner of the table. “You're still recovering from...what happened at the lab.”

Charles sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face. “I guess.”

“When Beast first got here, he could barely walk for the first week, and I think Raven had to spoon-feed him most of his meals.” Angel shook her head. “I was one of the lucky ones; Magneto found me before anyone else did.”

“You're a mutant then?” Charles hoped he wasn't being rude. The headache was making it hard to think. That, and the fact that he couldn't sense...anything from her. It was like trying to have a conversation with someone on the screen of a television. Charles shook his head slightly—he was pretty sure that _was_ rude.

“We're all mutants.” She smiled warmly. “Want to see?”

Charles took another careful sip of water then nodded. “I'd love to.”

Standing up, she turned her back, still looking at him over one shoulder...and then her tattoos _moved_. It took Charles' mind a moment to process what he was seeing. “Wings,” he whispered, awed.

Her smile grew wider and her eyes shone. Winking, she said, “They work too.”

And then Charles stood up, laughing in wonder, because she was _flying_ —her glimmering wings fluttering delicately behind her as she spun about like one of the sprites from the walls of Xavier Mansion's nursery—and that was probably the most magical thing he'd ever seen.

Landing softly in front of him, she looked up at him through her lashes. “You like them?”

“They're beautiful,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you.” She grinned. “It's so great not having to hide them, you know?”

“I—you should never have had to hide something like that.” A pair of wings wasn't anything to be afraid of. Or ashamed of.

“Hey,” she said, touching his arm, and he hadn't realized he'd looked away until he had to look back. “You don't have to hide yours either. Not here.”

 _Thanks_ , he thought.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled broadly. “That's so cool! Here, let me try.” _Charles? Can you hear me?_

Her voice in his mind was a little fuzzier than Erik's, but it wasn't overly 'loud' and the message came through clearly enough. He smiled. _Yes_.

 _Okay, good_. Her words were wrapped with the sense of a smile even warmer than the one on her face.

The alarm sounded on the oven, and Angel went to grab the reheated kasha. It turned out the kasha was lovely—warm and filling and comforting. As they were eating, Charles heard noises from another part of the base—if he remembered the layout properly, it seemed to be in the general direction of Hank's lab. Muffled voices, footsteps. Setting his fork down, Charles stood up and walked towards the sounds. _Erik?_

 _Yes, Charles; we're back_ , came the reply. _We have new guests_.

When Charles walked into the room—the “main” room just outside Hank's lab—he saw a blond teenager kneeling with his arms wrapped protectively around a small brown-haired boy. The younger boy had his face pressed against the blond boy's shoulder, sobbing. The other Brotherhood members stood in a rough semicircle around the pair looking generally awkward.

“I've got you, Scotty; I'm here,” the blond boy said, stroking the younger boy's hair. Looking up at Erik, he said, “He's just scared. Thank you—for saving both of us.”

Nodding grimly, Erik replied, “Understandable. We'll do whatever we can for him, Alex; you have my word.”

Couching down next to Alex, Charles put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “My name is Charles. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I—I don't know.” Alex looked at him, a helpless expression on his face. “My brother—they did something to him, broke something. He can't open his eyes or—or—”

 _It's his mutation_ , Erik supplied in Charles' head. _Some sort of energy beams, and_ _whatever they did to him,_ _he can't turn them off_. Aloud Erik said, “Beast, I'll need you to treat what you can of their injuries. Everyone else, go clean up and get changed.”

 _I can stay?_ Charles asked Erik.

 _Of course you can_.

“Scotty?” Charles tried, gently.

“It's _Scott_ ,” he replied, his face still pressed into Alex's shoulder. At least his sobs had quieted.

Charles smiled. “Sorry, Scott. Do you think you could let your brother go for a little bit? He's probably hungry. You might be hungry too; we have lots of food here.”

“No.” Scott's voice was hoarse, strained.

Alex sighed. “He's scared of accidentally opening his eyes.”

“I'd be scared too,” Charles said gently. Looking up at Hank, Charles asked, “Would you be able to make him a suppression device? Not like mine, just...a standard one.”

“ _What?_ ” Erik demanded, his voice hard.

Standing up, Charles faced Erik defiantly. “The child can't even open his _eyes_. He's effectively blind. This isn't about mutant pride; this is about practicality.”

Hank rubbed his large hand through the fur on the back of his neck. “I could synthesize a suppression drug easily enough, but those can wear off unexpectedly, especially when I'd be unsure of the dose due to his age...”

Charles grimaced. Drugs would _not_ be his first choice either.

Erik glared at Hank. “We don't drug mutations in the Brotherhood, Beast.”

“I know.” Hank sounded affronted. “I wasn't suggesting we actually try it; I was explaining why it wouldn't work. It's just that suppression drugs are something I'd be able to make much more quickly than a...suppression device.”

“We don't collar anyone either,” Erik said, his voice like iron.

“In this case...” Hank gestured helplessly to the boy. “It might be a prudent measure.”

Erik stepped closer, lowering and hardening his voice even further. “We don't collar anyone.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Charles turned his attention back to Hank. “Could you make a device or not?”

Glancing nervously at Erik then looking down at his feet, Hank admitted, “I could. It—it would take several days, though, and I might need materials...”

Grabbing Hank by the arm and roughly turning him towards himself Erik growled, “You will _not_ use Brotherhood resources to create any such thing.You will find another way.”

“Look,” Alex cut in, stroking Scott's hair reassuringly. “I don't like the idea of a collar either, but I think Charles is right. My brother can't just be expected to hold his eyes shut forever.”

Erik glared at him then glared back at Hank. His voice rang with finality when he simply repeated, “You will find another way.”

Hank nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Of course. A blindfold might work for now, to at least keep his eyes closed.”

Erik nodded, releasing Hank's arm. “For now.”

Turning on his heel, Erik stalked out of the room.

Charles chased him. _Erik, you're being unreasonable!_

Pausing in the hallway, Erik tightened his hands into fists at his sides. _Do you want to know what's 'unreasonable', Charles?_ Erik thought, turning to glare at him. _Humans who think they can just poke at us until something happens so they can write it down and call it_ _'_ _s_ _cientific progress'_ _! I'm getting_ _very_ _sick and tired of finding dead and broken children in these labs!_

Charles made himself meet the intensity of Erik's gaze. _I'm not...I'm not a child, Erik_.

Erik's face softened, as did his voice in Charles' head. _I know. But you're still very young_. He reached out and tucked a lock of Charles' hair behind his ear.

Charles' heart was hammering so loud he could barely think. Hadn't he and Erik been arguing about something? But then again, they always seemed to be, didn't they? Something about his mutation, no doubt. “Ow,” Charles said, because his head hurt again quite suddenly. He pressed one hand to his forehead, reaching for the wall to steady himself with the other hand as he swayed on his feet. He somehow missed the wall—he wasn't exactly sure _how_ —but Erik caught him, and Charles might have giggled at the embarrassing inanity of it all, but _oh_ Erik's arms felt so good around him, holding him up as his body did its best impression of a rag doll.

“ _Charles!_ ” Erik's voice in his ears and his head at once sounded surprised, confused, and concerned.

 _Sorry_ , he thought, feeling as though his mind was slurred but quite sure his speaking voice wouldn't fare any better at the moment. He just hoped Erik understood what he was trying to tell him. _Headache. Angel gave me some aspirin...before_... Which was quite strange, actually, since the aspirin shouldn't have worn off already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue dramatic cliffhanger music.


	5. Someone to Protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are confessions and Raven makes 'cape' a euphemism.

Lifting the apparently unconscious Charles into his arms, Erik debated for only a second where to take him. Beast would have the Summers brothers in his lab, and there was only one bed there—something to consider for the future, surely, along with a bigger kitchen table. For now, Charles' own bed would be better, Charles' own room quieter.

Charles mumbled something that sounded like “hero” and something else that might have been “beautiful” and then...“story”?

As thankful as ever for his ability to open doors with his power, Erik carried Charles into his room and laid him gently on the bed.

Charles' eyelids fluttered but he didn't open his eyes even as he turned his head towards Erik, twisting one of his hands into the folds of Erik's cape. Erik couldn't help wondering if Charles was trying to hold onto him or just his cape. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Erik brushed Charles' hair away from his face thinking, _So beautiful_.

A question floated hesitantly into his mind in response: _Me?_

Erik chuckled softly, brushing his knuckles down the side of Charles' cheek. _Yes, you_. Could the boy really not know he was beautiful? Of course, right now he might not know much, being mostly incoherent.

Charles' face remained impassive, but there was a sense of a shy smile wrapped around his thoughts as he responded, _You too_.

At the moment, Erik highly doubted he was “beautiful,” with cooling sweat itching as it dried on his skin and a layer of grime on his clothes—he was suddenly irrationally worried some of that grime might have rubbed off on Charles when he'd had to catch him and carry him. When he couldn't see the marks marring the back of his neck, Charles looked so pristine, so perfect, like something the filth and horror of the world had yet been unable to sully.

Erik just hoped Charles wasn't sicker than he appeared. Beast had taken a blood sample, but with the other lab today and the mutants they'd rescued there, the doctor hadn't really had much time to run tests or whatever it was he did with blood samples once he took them. He should probably be informed about Charles' current condition, though. Unhooking his cape from his shoulders, Erik tucked it around Charles like a blanket. _I need to go talk to Beast; call me—or him—if you need us_.

 _Only need you_ ... The response stopped Erik in his tracks before he reached the door. He wasn't sure if he should be worried or amused, but he _had_ just told Charles to call if he needed him. Frowning, he turned back.

Charles groaned then turned onto his side before pushing himself into a sitting position, blinking. Glancing at Erik, he winced and quickly looked away, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Oh God,” he said. “My head. I—did I—” He peeked at Erik from under his bangs. “I may have—did you carry me here?”

Walking closer, Erik stopped near the bed and confirmed, “I did.”

“Oh.” Charles blushed. “I'm terribly sorry. I don't usually make a habit... Swooning is really more a feminine thing, isn't it?”

“I've never actually known a woman to swoon,” Erik admitted.

“Perfect,” Charles said bitterly. He laughed and it sounded dry and cracked. “I am officially weaker and more pathetic than anyone you've ever known.”

“To be entirely fair,” Erik countered, “I haven't exactly known many weak and pathetic women.” He sighed, and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “I don't think you're weak or pathetic either, Charles. It takes time to recover from any sort of surgery, and what they did to you...it wasn't as simple as having your tonsils removed.”

“I felt fine earlier,” Charles said, a slight whine worming its way into his voice. “I took a shower, talked to Angel...the headache came so suddenly, and then I knocked the glass of water over—I don't even understand how that happened. But the aspirin was working; I could feel it. I should have been fine. I've had plenty of headaches before, but this whole fainting thing is new.”

“A side effect from the chip?” It seemed quite likely, though Beast would of course have a better understanding of the possible repercussions of what had been done to Charles.

Charles stared at him, confusion and terror in his bright blue eyes. “I...I don't know.”

“You'll need to talk to Beast about this, about all of this—the headaches, the clumsiness, the fainting.” Erik regarded Charles cautiously, hoping the younger man wouldn't argue. He'd tell Beast himself of course, but it would help if Charles was cooperative.

“Yes.” Charles nodded, exhaling shakily then looking away. A pale pink blush appeared across his cheeks. _I remember you were going to talk to him_.

 _I was_ , Erik agreed. _I wasn't sure how much of that conversation you remembered_.

 _I think_ , Charles admitted, his blush spreading and darkening until even his ears were red, _that I remember all of it_.

 _Did you mean it then?_ Erik asked, unable to suppress a grin. _That you think I'm beautiful? Or were you just being polite?_

“You said it first!” Charles said accusingly, finally looking straight at Erik again, eyes flashing with agitation.

“I did.” Erik smiled affectionately at him. “It was true. It still is.”

Charles closed his eyes and took a few gasping breaths. “I can't—I can't _read_ you, so please, please just _tell_ me what you mean by that.”

Erik sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't very good at 'telling' when it came to his feelings, and despite all signs to the contrary, it was still possible he'd misinterpreted Charles' own interest in him. He didn't want to scare the younger mutant or disgust him or... But much as with mutations, it was better to be honest and open about these things rather than hiding them as though they were shameful. Because they _weren't_. He took a breath and tried to shake off the feeling that he was stepping off a precipice in the dark with no idea how far he might fall. “I find you attractive. I enjoy not only your physical appearance—though that is certainly a factor—but your personality: your wit, your stubbornness, your compassion, and your insufferable cheerfulness. I would love the chance to get to know you better, and if you were willing, I'd very much like to kiss you sometime.”

“Oh,” Charles said softly. He reached out and took Erik's hand, squeezing it tightly. _I find you attractive as well, very much so. I hope you'll forgive me if I'm not quite so eloquent right now as I'd like to be. My head still sort of feels like it's been run over by a locomotive_.

 _Yes, your head_. Erik took Charles' precious head in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, thinking, _You are terribly distracting; I still need to speak with Beast—_ _if nothing else, he might at least be able to give you something stronger than aspirin for the pain_.

Charles nodded. _I think...I should probably rest for now_.

 _I think so too_. Erik stood up, tucking his cape around Charles once again after he lay back against his pillow, smiling softly up at Erik. And then Erik turned and finally, _finally_ left the room.

o0o

As expected, Erik found Beast in his lab. A blindfolded Scott sat on the cot with Alex sitting next to him, one arm around his brother. Alex and Beast both looked up as Erik walked in.

“Sir,” Beast said deferentially.

Scott hunched his shoulders and hung his head. Erik supposed there wasn't much point for the child to try to look at someone he couldn't see anyway.

“I need to talk to you about your other patient,” Erik said to Beast.

Beast nodded. “Let me just get these two something to eat, and then I'm all yours.”

Erik nodded curtly and stood patiently with his hands clasped behind his back as his doctor got juice and sandwiches from his small fridge.

After saying a few quiet words to the brothers, Beast walked over to Erik. “Is Charles all right?”

“For now, I think so.” Erik guided the doctor into his small office where they could talk in private. Taking a seat in the metal chair in front of the desk, Erik waited until Beast was seated behind it before continuing. “Charles has been suffering severe headaches, unexpected clumsiness, and fainting spells.”

Beast looked up from the open file in front of him—no doubt Charles' file—a concerned expression on his blue face. “Charles fainted again?”

“He did. In in the hallway, shortly after the...confrontation about the younger Summers boy.” Erik shifted uncomfortably in his chair—he really could do with a shower and a change of clothes. “I carried him to his room, and he's resting now, but he was...well, he seemed delirious for a while there.” He took a breath. “He told me Angel had given him some aspirin a little earlier, but the headache seemed to come back quite forcefully then and was immediately followed by a fainting spell. I know you haven't had much time to consider the options we might have for treating his actual injury, but for now I was hoping you might be able to offer him something stronger for the pain.”

Leaning back in his chair, Beast sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, his 'injury' as you put it; that alone could very much be the cause of most if not all of these symptoms. The brain...it's a very delicate thing, and for all Charles' insistence that he was a willing participant in this operation, I doubt his 'doctors' had much idea what they were doing—it is my opinion that this wasn't fundamentally different from any other experiment conducted on mutants in these sorts of labs.”

Erik nodded. “It seems very likely you're right about that.”

Turning a page in the file, Beast took a breath before saying, “There's something else you should know...I haven’t had much time to properly study the sample I took of Charles' blood, but what I found...there weren't simply traces of mutation suppressing drugs and the sort of painkillers and anesthetics consistent with this type of surgery—though all of those were present.” He grimaced. “There were other things as well...quite the complex cocktail from what I can surmise. The main thing of note is that he seems to have been intentionally drugged to make him more vulnerable to suggestion, more compliant. From the levels...the concentration...” He let out a breath, meeting Erik's eyes. “It would appear he had been drugged in this manner—most likely by his step-father— _before_ the surgery, and then by the researchers at the lab after the surgery as well. I imagine they would have claimed it was painkillers or antibiotics, and at that point he wouldn't have questioned anything they told him.”

Erik swore softly. Suddenly, Charles' strangely placid demeanour from their first meeting made much more sense. Erik was struck with the sudden urge to wrap Charles up in his arms and never let him go—Charles needed _someone_ to protect him. Sitting up straighter, Erik asked carefully, “Would all of that be out of his system now? I mean, to the point that it could no longer affect his behaviour?”

“By now? Yes.” Beast nodded. “And I will—” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “—give him something stronger for the headaches, should he need it.” Pressing his hands against the surface of his desk, he stood up, pausing for a moment before fully straightening. “I know we're still a small group, Magneto, but I'm starting to think we could use a second doctor.”

Smiling slightly, Erik stood up as well. “If I happen to find one, I'll send him—or her—your way.”

Nodding resignedly, Beast replied, “I'd appreciate that, Sir.”

“Charles...” Erik said, as they walked out of Beast's office together, “expressed an interest in science, or at least the science of mutations—perhaps you could train him as a sort of assistant.”

“Perhaps.” Beast nodded as though weighing the merit of the idea. “It would of course help if he had some sort of background in the sciences. I hadn't asked him yet about his education.”

Erik shrugged. “Neither had I.”

o0o

Charles was resting in his room, not quite able to sleep and daydreaming about Erik while enjoying the feel—and smell—of his cape all around him when there was a soft knock at his door. “Yes?”

“It's Raven. We haven't exactly met, but Hank sent me with some medicine for you.” Her voice sounded kind, and Charles knew who Raven was in theory anyway. He might have even seen her earlier...

“Please come in.” Charles assumed Erik hadn't locked the door when he left—assumed and hoped, since he really didn't want to get out of bed.

Apparently Erik had left it unlocked, because the door swung open and in walked a girl with blue skin, brilliant orange-red hair, and bright yellow eyes. “Hi,” she said. “It's nice to finally meet you properly.”

Grinning broadly at the wonderful uniqueness of her appearance, Charles held out his hand to shake hers. “Charles Xavier...as I'm sure you already know.” He laughed softly as she shook his hand. “I'm terribly sorry for not introducing myself earlier; I do believe you were there when I met Alex and Scott.”

She shrugged. “I was. So was Azazel. But we were all tired from the mission and you were focused on the crying kid. Completely understandable, and I'm totally not offended.” Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a small pill bottle and handed it to him. “Here. All the instructions for dosage and such are written on the label, which is good, because I'd never remember any of it to tell you.”

“Thanks,” he said, turning the bottle in his hands.

“How's your head now?”

“Fine; it's fine.” It seemed as though the aspirin was working again.

“Hey...” she said, looking down and touching Erik's cape with one finger. “Is that Magneto's cape?”

“Yes?” Charles couldn't think of a single reason he could offer for why he was using it as a blanket...again.

Raising one eyebrow, she shook her head slightly. “Okay then...” She shrugged. “It's not like it's any of my business what Erik does with his...cape.” She smirked.

Charles ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. “Thank you for the...” He shook the bottle of pills lamely.

“Hey,” she said softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I'm not exactly in a position to judge, okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled, nodding, willing the stupid blush to just go away already.

“Oh my gosh.” She plopped down on the edge of his bed and tilted her head back, sighing. “I can totally understand, you know? I mean, I have eyes.” She chuckled and grinned slyly at him. “He's gonna be sooooo much easier to work with.” She paused, her face growing more serious. “But, just remember, you don't need to take any crap from him, okay? He might be the leader around here, and we all love him, but we all also know he can be an ass too. So just keep that in mind, all right? And if you ever need anyone to talk to, you know I'm here...and of course Hank's here. We're all here for you.”

“That's the Brotherhood way.” He managed a shy smile.

“Exactly!” Grinning brightly, she patted him on the knee and stood up.

She was almost at the door when he spoke again. “Raven?”

Turning to look at him again, she said, “Yeah?”

“What—what does he like?” His voice sounded small to his own ears. Angel had said that Raven knew Erik better than anyone, after all.

“Oh, honey,” she said, a compassionate expression on her face, “if I'd been able to figure that out, I'd have...well, I'd be the one using his cape as a blanket.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It seems to me that you're doing better than me already. But...” Her face softened further. “Just in general, he does like chess. I don't know if you play, but maybe you'd have the patience to learn? I never did.”

Charles smiled brightly. “Thanks!” He did, for the record, play chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might switch to once a week updates rather than twice a week, or maybe this week was just a fluke.
> 
> For the record, I have no idea what drugs could be used to make Charles compliant and vulnerable to suggestion. I do know Kurt Marko is a special kind of creep.


	6. Too Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik and Charles play chess, Charles is a brat, and Erik is kind of a jerk.
> 
> Or, the one in which Erik manages to seriously piss Charles off.

Erik, it turned out, was surprisingly good at chess. Not that Charles had expected him to be bad at it, but it was just uncommon for Charles to find someone who was a decent match for himself. And Erik...well, at that moment he just seemed to be showing off.

They were playing in Erik's bedroom—Erik's impressively neat and tidy bedroom which Charles had initially been surprised to find was the exact same size and held basically the same spartan furnishings as his own—all-metal chess set laid out on the bed while Erik leaned against the headboard looking over recent scientific journals for possible evidence of experimentation on mutants and moving his pieces with his power without even so much as glancing at the damn board, and Charles sitting cross-legged—and becoming increasingly annoyed with each passing moment—on the foot of the bed. It was a truly impressive use of his power, Charles had to grant him that, but he'd sort of hoped playing chess with Erik would come with fewer distractions...or at least, different sorts of distractions. It didn't help that despite apparently giving the game so infuriatingly little of his attention, he still seemed to be _winning_.

Perhaps Charles had caught him at a bad time, having just shown up outside the door marked 'Magneto' in tall, angular letters, asking if Erik happened to want to play chess. Erik had opened the door, set up the board—which had been in the top drawer of Erik's dresser before that had opened as though by magic to let the metal board and pieces float out—gestured for Charles to have a seat, and was just now crafting himself a second queen by affixing a pawn he'd somehow advanced to Charles' side of the board atop the rook Charles still wasn't sure how he'd even managed to capture in the first place, all without so much as glancing up. Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true; he had in fact smiled at Charles _once_ when he first walked in. And perhaps it counted for something that he'd been carrying on a polite telepathic conversation about things like the painkillers Hank had given Charles and how the Summers brothers had been settling into their new room.

 _I brought you your cape_ , Charles offered, pressing an image of where he'd draped it over the back of the desk chair into Erik's mind along with the words.

 _I know; I saw_. Erik turned a page, and an image of Charles as he'd appeared when Erik opened the door, folded dark red cape over his arm, appeared in Charles' mind.

Charles couldn't help blushing slightly at how he apparently looked through Erik's eyes. Or at least, how he looked in Erik's memory—he all but had a halo and certainly seemed far more attractive than he ever did in the mirror. For a moment, Charles considered sending Erik an image of how Erik looked to him, but for whatever reason that idea made him feel too vulnerable. Being still so unsure of his limited powers, he wasn't certain he could do it right anyway. Instead, he thought, _That's really impressive, Erik, how you can play the game without even looking_.

Frowning slightly over the top of the book, Erik replied, _Does it bother you, Charles?_

Oh God, he hadn't intended for any sense of irritation to bleed through with his words. Charles ducked his head then forced himself to look back at Erik with a sheepish smile. _From a strategic viewpoint, it's really quite brilliant, putting your opponent off_ _balance._

Sighing, Erik closed the journal and set it aside. “That wasn't my intention, Charles.”

Charles smiled self-deprecatingly. “It's all right. You probably would have won anyway; you're very good.”

Erik leaned forward and frowned at the board. “I haven't actually won yet, Charles.”

“I know,” Charles said, shrugging, “but it seems pretty inevitable at this point.”

“I suppose...” Erik actually sounded uncertain.

Shaking his head, Charles challenged, “If we switched sides right now, would you be able to win?”

Erik's frown deepened for a moment before he finally shook his head, chuckling softly. “No, I don't think I could.”

Well, that was something anyway, Charles supposed. Though whether it reflected worse on Erik than it did on him, he wasn't sure. “How about we just say you— _ow_!” Charles grabbed at his forehead, momentarily overwhelmed by intense pain and dizziness.

 _Charles!_ Erik was holding him, one hand on Charles' shoulder and one cupping his jaw. Erik's face was filled with so much endearing concern that Charles wished he could _feel_ it, because he was sure it would be lovely. That _Erik_ would be lovely, if he could ever really... _The painkillers, Charles_.

Oh, right. With a shaking hand, Charles dug the bottle out of his pocket. He'd read the label already—which was good, because he was unlikely to be able to actually see the small letters at the moment—so he knew the dosage. He just needed some... _Water?_

 _Of course_. And then Erik wasn't touching him and Erik wasn't even on the bed. Why was Erik—? Where was Erik—? Water, yes, Erik was getting him water. That knowledge did little to help Charles at the moment, though. He whined—because it _hurt_ , dammit—and curled up on his side.

o0o

When Erik returned from the bathroom with a glass of water—it really would be nice to have his own private bathroom, or even a sink, really; the main bathroom wasn't far from any of the bedrooms, but he had not liked to leave Charles alone—Charles was shivering, knees pulled up to his chest and eyes closed. He didn't even have his head on the pillow.

Grabbing his cape off the back of the chair with his other hand, he set the glass of water down on the edge of the desk. It only took a few moments to arrange himself and Charles semi-reclining against the headboard with one arm around Charles and Charles resting against his chest, the cape draped over both of them. As he twisted the lid off the pill bottle, he asked Charles, _How many of these are you supposed to take?_

 _Just one,_ Charles replied, shifting closer as though drawn to the heat of Erik's body, _every four hours_ _as needed_.

Erik shook one pill into the lid then helped Charles swallow it, holding the glass of water for him.

 _Thank you_ , Charles thought, relaxing against Erik with a sigh. After a moment, he added, _You might as well go back to reading_.

It would take some time for the medicine to take effect, so Erik spent a moment making sure the cape was tucked about Charles' shoulders to his own satisfaction and then reached for the journal. It wasn’t exactly riveting reading, and certainly Beast was much better at spotting suspicious science, but the doctor didn't exactly have time for this—obviously, treating the patients he already had should be a higher priority.

Of course, Erik's own priorities now had to include expanding and equipping the base for the expanding group. The training room should probably be reinforced if they hoped to help the Summers brothers learn to control their powers. Erik ran his hand absently through Charles' hair. Perhaps he himself should be learning what he could about suppression devices so he could be some help to Beast when Charles finally decided he was sick of being muzzled.

Erik tried to relax his jaw, finding it painfully clenched. Even thinking about mutation suppression made Erik furious, but pretending the technology didn't exist wouldn't help anyone.

Realizing he wasn't going to find anything helpful in the text in his hands, Erik was just about to give up and lay the book aside when Charles moved—moved by slipping one of his legs over one of Erik's and rolling on top of him, pushing himself up on his hands to look down into Erik's face, effectively replacing the journal in his field of vision.

“Charles,” Erik said, clearing his throat. “What are you doing?”

Grinning mischievously, Charles leaned forward and nuzzled at Erik's neck. Erik could hear the pout in his voice when, pulling back once again, he said, “Trying to get you to pay attention to me.”

Chuckling and rolling his eyes, Erik laid the journal aside and let his hands find their way to Charles' hips where they straddled his thigh. _I take it you're feeling better_.

 _Yes_. Charles' eyes sparkled as he looked down at Erik, biting his lip. _I'm sure I could feel even better..._ _with a bit of help_.

For a brief moment, Erik's mind attempted to short circuit and he stared up at Charles blankly before quite suddenly flipping the two of them over and pinning Charles to the bed. The invitation had been nothing if not clear; in fact, it was almost _too_ clear. Grinning boldly down at Charles' surprised face, he pitched his voice low and asked, “Is this the kind of attention you had in mind?”

“Oh,” Charles whispered. His eyes were wider and darker than Erik had ever seen them. _Yes..._

Because he couldn't think of a single reason _not_ to do it, Erik kissed him. Tenderly at first, then deeper and hungrier as Charles' enthusiastic response spurred him on. It was probably the best moment of Erik's life to date; he certainly couldn't think of anything that had ever happened before that compared to kissing Charles. Trying to pull Charles even closer, Erik curled one hand around the back of his neck—and just as his fingers brushed across the healing cuts there, Charles winced, sucking air in through his teeth in a sharp hissing sound. Jerking his hand away as though burned, Erik thought desperately, _Sorry! Damn—oh, Charles, I'm sorry_...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead against Charles'. He felt as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him. He couldn't even understand _how_ he could have forgotten about it; it's not like he wasn't constantly aware of all the metal in the room, _including_ the piece lodged in Charles' brain.

“It's all right, Erik,” Charles said, stroking his fingers through Erik's hair in a way that could have been soothing had Erik allowed it to be. “It only hurt for a second—I'm fine.”

Rolling off Charles and seating himself on the edge of the bed, Erik looked back at him and said, “You are _not_ 'fine'! There's a lot of things you are, but 'fine' isn't one of them.” He was shaking. He wanted to find every single 'researcher' responsible for this and shove random pieces of metal into _their_ brains.

Charles looked very small as he slowly sat up, leaning hesitantly against the headboard. “Erik...”

“If I could do it without hurting you even worse,” Erik said, taking one of Charles' hands and looking unwaveringly into his eyes, “I'd simply pull that piece of metal out of your head, and I wouldn't have any regrets.”

Glancing down at their joined hands and then back up at Erik's face, Charles asked, “It wouldn't matter what I thought, what I wanted? You'd do it without my permission?”

Erik tightened his grip on Charles' hand and took a breath. “Yes; I would. Because it—because it would be what's best for you. If you had a broken leg, I wouldn't let you walk around on that just because you thought it was somehow an improvement either; I would do whatever I could to help you, even if I had to fight you.”

“Oh, God.” Charles looked away from Erik, blinking and taking several gasping breaths. “You really mean that, don't you?”

“Of course I—” But Charles was slipping his hand out of Erik's and brushing past him as he slid gracefully off the bed and retreated towards the door. “Charles!”

Charles whirled back to face Erik, brilliant anger flashing in his tear-filled eyes. “ _No_ , Erik. You don't get to make these sorts of decisions for me. I don't care if you _are_ the supreme ruler of all mutant-kind or whatever the hell this position to which you've appointed yourself happens to be; that still doesn't give you the right.”

“Charles...” Erik stood up and slowly walked towards him. “I want what's best for you because I care about you.” Erik reached for him, but Charles flinched away, shaking his head.

“You don't care about me.” Charles' voice broke and his whole body started trembling. “You only care about my mutation; that's _all_ you care about.”

If Erik could just hold him, he was sure everything would be better; that had always worked before, but Charles was backing away from him, glaring at him. In that moment, Erik would have done anything to soothe the hurt he saw in Charles' eyes, but his useless mind was filled with white noise in the place of thoughts.

When he reached the door, Charles grabbed the handle and for one wild moment Erik considered using his power to hold the door closed, to keep Charles here, but dismissed the idea as madness as soon as it presented itself. And then Charles was gone, and he wasn't one hundred percent sure the idea had been madness after all as the metallic bang of the door slamming behind him echoed inside Erik's skull.

o0o

As he left Erik's room, tears blurring his vision, Charles almost ran bodily into someone—a man who looked for all the world like popular depictions of _the devil_ , minus a pair of horns. He even had a dramatic widow's peak, and his coal-black goatee came to a sinister point. At any other time, Charles would have exclaimed excitedly over his appearance, perhaps even asking some politely curious question about the fascinating tail that snaked about his legs. But right then, Charles just wanted to get past, to get away, to be somewhere quiet, somewhere private.

“You okay?” Azazel—this must be Azazel; Charles was actually pretty sure he'd seen him at least twice before and still hadn't properly introduced himself.

“Sorry,” Charles said, hating how his voice was so obviously choked with tears. He kept his gaze low, hoping that somehow the other mutant wouldn't notice the tears in his eyes. “I can't. I can't right now.”

And thankfully, Azazel stepped smoothly to the side, letting Charles past without another word.

When Charles reached his room, he closed the door behind him as quickly as possible and sagged against it. Briefly, he considered locking it, but what would be the point? If Erik wanted to, he'd just open it anyway—he'd probably see its being locked as cute. Why any of the Brotherhood's doors even had locks was a mystery, because Erik didn't even need doors as far as Charles could tell; he could most likely just rip the metal wall apart if he felt like it. Charles managed to suppress his scream until he was face down on his bed with his face buried in his pillow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...things were definitely heating up there, and then I threw a bucket of cold water over them. ;) I'm so mean... *ducks whatever objects you all are throwing at me*
> 
> Who's right here? Erik? Charles? Both? Neither?


	7. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is discussion of 'Musical Brotherhood Beds' and Erik gets some advice.

Erik considered going after Charles, but he really had no idea what he could do or say if he did. Charles likely needed some time to cool down—they both would probably benefit from some time to cool down. He reminded himself that Charles was still young—wasn't he nineteen?—and at that age Erik himself had been quite prone to irrational fits of anger. Not that he was all that much older than Charles, really; he was only twenty-four.

Realizing he was hungry—it had in fact been several hours since he'd eaten supper, and he hadn't actually eaten much then—Erik took another moment to compose himself then headed to the kitchen. If he was lucky, it would be deserted at such a late hour.

He was grumpily opening and closing cupboards, not finding anything that seemed to be worth the trouble—they had several varieties of cookies, but Erik wasn't in the mood for anything sweet and impractical, and everything practical seemed to require preparation or at the very least dishes he'd have to wash—when Mystique walked in. Damn Erik's luck then. Glaring at him, she placed her hands on her hips and demanded, “What the _hell_ , Erik?”

Shooting a glare in her direction while closing a cupboard door with more force than strictly necessary, Erik replied dryly, “You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“Charles,” she said, her voice hard, “is crying in his room. Azazel saw him leave _your_ room, obviously distressed. So, what the hell?”

Erik sighed, pressing both palms on the smooth, cool metal surface of the counter and closing his eyes. “That's none of your business, Raven.”

“It is my business,” she countered, folding her arms, “because it affects the Brotherhood as a group.”

“Oh, I see,” he said coldly, turning towards her. “Then I suppose it's _my_ business, this little game of 'musical beds' or whatever the hell you've been playing with Beast, Azazel, and Angel. Here I thought that because you were all adults and perfectly capable of making decisions for yourselves that it wasn't in fact my business at all.”

“That is different,” she snapped, tightening her arms across her chest. “No one there is getting hurt.”

“Of course not, because none of you has feelings, not even Hank.” As far as he'd been able to tell, Angel was in Azazel's bed as often as she was in Raven's and as often as Raven was in Azazel's—it was all really quite balanced between those three. Maybe he should just make the group of deviants an extra large bed; they might all be happier. But it was Beast he was worried about, had been worried about for some time—he at least seemed only interested in Mystique. But Erik had told himself repeatedly that it wasn't his business. If Hank had wanted his help or advice, he would have asked for it.

Raven glared at him, eyes filled with raging fire. She raised her chin defiantly. “If Hank is getting hurt, at least he's doing a damn better job of hiding it than your boyfriend is. Who, I'll remind you, is crying his eyes out at this very moment. You need to apologise to him for whatever the hell you said or did.” She sighed, shoving blue fingers through her coppery hair. “And maybe this is me talking to you more as your friend than as your second in command, but it's still true.”

She turned and walked away, and for a moment Erik thought he was blissfully alone in the kitchen. But then he noticed Darwin walking in from the other door, eyeing Erik suspiciously. Didn't anyone ever sleep around here?

“What did you _do_ , Magneto?” Darwin asked.

“Oh, so you just assume this was _my_ fault?” Erik demanded, gesturing angrily to his chest.

Darwin looked thoughtful for a moment. “Considering what I know of you and what I know of Charles...” He met Erik's gaze steadily. “ _Yes_ ; yes I do.”

Erik sat down in one of the chairs, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and groaned in frustration. “I just want what's best for him, to _protect_ him. Is that so wrong?”

Grabbing two beers from the fridge, Darwin popped the caps off of both and handed one to Erik, sitting down as well. Why hadn't Erik thought of beer? “I get the feeling—” Darwin began. “And, you know, feel free to correct me here, but—I'm guessing you tried to make a decision for him, a decision that should be his to make.”

Erik took a cautious sip of his beer, thinking. That wasn't exactly what he'd done; more like what he'd threatened—no, not 'threatened'; he hadn't meant it as a threat, surely. It was all entirely hypothetical anyway. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. Damn, it felt like he was getting a headache himself now. But Charles clearly wasn't capable of making important decisions for himself. “He's a child.”

Darwin raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening. “Oh really?” Looking down at the table, Darwin slid his beer back and forth between his hands. “I guess I just never took you for the type who'd pursue that sort of relationship with a child.”

Erik glared at him, tightening the muscles in his jaw for a moment. How the hell did everyone know about his 'relationship' with Charles, anyway? He'd just kissed him for the first time today, and everyone assumed they were... Well; it's not like they hadn't been heading in that direction. Finally, he snapped, “He's nineteen.”

“Ah, I see.” Darwin nodded, and Erik wondered what in fact he thought he saw. Darwin took a sip of his beer before continuing, “Well, it seems to me that you have to make a clear distinction here: either Charles is a child and you can make his decisions for him, or he's an adult and you're free to pursue a relationship with him without guilt.” He paused, then added softly yet firmly, “You can't have it both ways.” He took another swallow of his beer. “No matter how convenient that would be for you.”

Erik drank his beer quietly for a while. How did Darwin manage to have all this advice about relationships anyway? It's not like he... Well, maybe that was precisely _why_ he wasn't involved in the game of Musical Brotherhood Beds: he was too damn smart. Eventually, Erik spoke again. “Charles is an adult; of course he's an adult. He just acts like a child sometimes.” It didn't help that he basically looked like one as well.

Darwin nodded, sliding out of his chair and placing his empty beer bottle in the crate in the corner. Just before he walked back out of the kitchen he said, “With respect, Sir, so do you.”

Dammit, it seemed like everyone was challenging his authority lately in one way or another. Maybe he needed to give a rousing speech or something, remind everyone of why they were here, of the mission, of they good they could do and were doing. Erik pressed his hands over his eyes. Of course, the point was not—had never been—to get anyone to respect him; if someone else wanted to lead, and could lead, he'd be happy enough to step aside, so long as the job still got _done_. Because what they were doing was _important_ ; there were mutants out there living in fear, being victimized for who they were, being denied basic rights. Children being driven out of their homes or shipped off to research labs by their parents, the very people who were meant to protect them. They needed someone on their side, to know they weren't alone.

His mind drifted back to Charles, whom he sincerely hoped wasn't still crying and hadn't cried himself to sleep. Finishing the last of his beer, he stood up, put the empty bottle in the crate, and made his way to Charles' door. Standing outside the door, he hesitated, not sure if knocking would be more polite before simply directing his thoughts in hopes Charles was still awake enough to catch them. _Charles?_

_Erik?_ came the near-instantaneous reply, Charles' thoughts feeling somehow shaky.

_Yes; I'm just outside your door. I was hoping...I was hoping we could talk._ After a moment, he added, _Can I come in?_

It really couldn't have been that long that Erik waited for a response, but his paranoid mind ran circles around itself insisting that Charles was either not going to respond at all or was going to tell him to go to hell. Both of which he probably deserved, actually. But then Charles did respond, _Yes;_ _please come in_.

And Erik could breathe again.

As he opened the door and walked inside, he saw Charles sitting on his bed, knees pulled up in front of his chest and shoulders hunched, face puffy around his red-rimmed eyes. Erik wanted to rush to his side immediately, to hold him tight and tell him everything was going to be all right, but he held himself back, standing just inside the door. He was still trying to decide how best to begin when Charles said, “You can sit.”

Erik felt a sudden tightening around his heart at how rough Charles' voice sounded. Turning the desk chair so it faced Charles and sitting in it cautiously, Erik began, “Charles I—I need to—I owe you an apology.”

Charles' gaze flicked to Erik's face and his eyes widened momentarily then narrowed before returning to simply looking tired, but he just quietly said, “Okay.”

“I don't have the right to make decisions for you,” Erik admitted. “I'm sorry I said those things—I'm sorry I _thought_ those things. It was stupid and inconsiderate and probably quite cruel.” He looked down at the toes of his boots. “I shouldn't have—I never wanted to hurt you in any way.”

Charles moved so he was sitting cross-legged and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You've changed your mind then?”

“I have.” Erik clasped his hands in front of himself, resting his forearms on his own knees. “A friend of mine talked some sense into me.” Well, two had tried, but he'd only listened to one. “And Charles...” He took a breath, trying to be sure he said the right words so Charles would understand. “I do care about you, not just your mutation. If—if you never change your mind about the chip or if Beast simply can't find a way to remove or deactivate it and you...” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I'm not going to lie and say I'd be happy about either of those, or that I wouldn't feel that the chip was holding you back—and I'm still always going to think that's wrong, and that no mutant should have his or her power suppressed. But I'm not going to force anything on you, because you're an adult, so you should be able to make decisions for yourself. Even if I feel that you are making the wrong choice, it's still your choice to make.” His voice was softer when he added, “You might have to remind me of that sometimes.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles said, his voice choked, and reached for him. As soon as Erik was close enough, Charles grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the bed, pressing himself against Erik's side and burying his face in Erik's shoulder. Charles was trembling slightly, but Erik felt the tremblings fade as though absorbed by his own body. They lay together in silence for a while and Erik felt his own terror subside. He really hadn't expected Charles to forgive him so quickly, to trust him again so easily. Eventually, Charles thought, _I'm sorry I bothered you when you were reading_.

_I'm not_. Erik grinned blithely at him, wrapping as much joy and wonder as he could around an image of the two of them kissing and pushing it towards Charles' mind.

Charles smiled, ducking his head and glancing at Erik through his bangs, then said softly, “I was being a brat.”

“I think,” Erik said, moving so he could look directly into Charles' face, “that I like you being a brat.”

“Okay.” Charles kissed him then pulled back, his eyes flashing with mischief. “Maybe I'll have to be a brat more often.”

Erik kissed him back. “If that's what you want.”

Looking thoughtful, Charles laced his fingers through Erik's. He was quiet for a while, absently stroking his thumb up and down Erik's forefinger. “I think I want,” Charles said softly, “to feel your mind. Not to change it or even to dig up your deepest memories—unless you wanted me to delve into your memories, of course—just to feel it. That's something I could do, before the chip. There were a lot of things I could do, but I think that's what I miss the most: I could know a person by the feel of their mind. Now, it's been so surreal, as if I'm watching people on television, as if none of you are quite _real_ , even though of course I know you are, and I feel as though I'm being quite rude by even thinking that. But—” Charles broke off, making a soft frustrated sound.

Erik thought about how he could sense metal with his own power, just feel where the metal was and what it was, without moving or shaping it—though he could do that too if he wished—but just sense it. He tried to imagine how it would feel to suddenly have that sense cut off. He thought perhaps he'd have a hard time believing that the metal still existed, that he'd feel as though he'd been plunged into a world of wood, stone, and plastic, despite how his rational mind would tell him the metal was still there. “I think I understand,” he said. “And I don't think you're rude; you're probably the most polite person I've ever met.” Charles sounded like he was saying...well, he sounded like he was saying he no longer wanted the chip, that he wanted the chip gone or at least deactivated—Erik roughly pushed away the sudden desperate desire to remove the chip before Charles could change his mind. It's not like he had any idea how to do that, not without very likely killing Charles in the process. But in time, Beast would find a way. “I want you to be able to feel my mind, too.” Erik swallowed. “I hope—I hope you would like how it feels.”

Charles blushed a little, snuggling closer to Erik contentedly. “I'm sure I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How apt this chapter title turns out to be, because it's big **decision** time for all you lovely AO3 readers!
> 
> Attention! This is important! _Speak now or forever hold your peace!_
> 
> Option 1: The rating stays the same, and I post the M rated scenes separately as "bonus scenes" (in a series with this fic, so they're still pretty easy to find). The obvious downside is that it becomes a bit tricky to read the story in the proper order as some of the M rated stuff happens in the middle of chapters.
> 
> Option 2: The rating jumps to M (not E, just M) and I post the story here, unedited. The only downside (other than having M rated stuff appearing before your virgin eyes) is that Chapter 8 is suddenly a lot longer than the other chapters (and Chapter 13 is also substantially longer). If you're reading this on your lunch-break or something, the time it takes to read a chapter might be a factor for you.
> 
> In the case of a tie in votes, I'll go ahead and make the entire fic M, because that's just easier for me. You have until Sunday evening Pacific time to let your voice be heard. Remember that you don't need an AO3 account to leave a comment. :)
> 
> (Oh, and I'd also love to know what you thought of the chapter.)


	8. Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sleeping together, sex, and awkward conversations about sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the it was unanimous (and thank you so much to everyone who replied), this fic is now M. For anyone who actually wants to read the T-rated version of this chapter instead, it's available on FFN: [T Rated "Chipped" Chapter 8](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10228382/8/Chipped).

When Erik awoke, it was dark and quiet. A feeling of disorientation washed over him as he could sense he was in a room that was much like his own and yet wasn't his own. Charles was curled, warm and comforting, at his side... Erik was in Charles room. He hadn't intended to fall asleep—they must have drifted off, for they were both still fully clothed and on top of the covers, though his cape was acting as something of a makeshift blanket. He couldn't help smiling at that, remembering how much Charles seemed to love his cape.

The sky outside the high, narrow windows was dark, and inside the base Erik could feel no metal moving about nor footsteps on the metal floors. He had a vague memory of turning off the lights in Charles' room while Charles lay with his head on Erik's chest, eyes closed—bright lights often led to headaches, after all. But now it was probably three in the morning, and they were both sleeping in their clothes—though, in Charles' case that probably wasn't so bad, since his clothes consisted of a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Erik's clothing was decidedly less comfortable.

Erik wondered if he could extract himself from Charles' bed without disturbing the sleeping telepath. And what would he even do then—go back to his room? It seemed somehow cruel to fall asleep next to Charles and not be there when he woke up. He wanted to allow him undisturbed rest, but maybe Charles would _like_ waking up next to Erik. Erik certainly hoped he would, at any rate.

At the very least, Erik needed to get his boots off. That was pretty non-negotiable if he was going to get any more sleep that night. But as Erik was trying to nudge off one boot with the toe of his other, Charles stirred at his side, making a sleepy noise. Erik stroked his back soothingly and kissed the top of his head, murmuring, “It's all right, Charles. It's all right.”

Charles sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

Groaning, Erik sat up, yanked his boots off, and set them carefully on the floor before turning his attention back to Charles. Stroking his fingers through the hair above Charles' ear, he said softly, “Go back to sleep,” and kissed Charles on the forehead before lying back down himself.

“What time is it?” Charles asked, scratching his fingers through his rumpled hair.

Reaching out with his power, Erik found the wall clock in the kitchen, sensing the positions of the metal hands. “It's about twenty-five minutes after three.”

“Mmm.” Charles absently stroked his hand down Erik's arm. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“I expect you were tired.” Frowning, Erik sat up again and reached to touch Charles' cheek gently. “How's your head? Do you need anything?”

Crawling into his lap, Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's neck and leaned bonelessly against him, resting his head on Erik's shoulder. “Head feels fine—just wish I wasn't so tired.”

Sighing, Erik shook his head, stroking his hands over Charles' shoulders. “If you're tired, you should sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“But I don't want to sleep,” Charles whined, tightening his grip on Erik and squirming a little in his lap. “Are _you_ tired, Erik?”

Very suddenly, Erik was not in fact tired, but he told himself firmly that he really should be. Charles was tired, after all. Erik sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around Charles. “If you could read my mind right now, Charles, you'd know that I'm a selfish ass. But you really do need to sleep. I don't think—I don't think either of us would enjoy anything very much if you were half asleep.”

Charles nuzzled his nose into Erik's neck, his warm breath tickling Erik's skin. _I might_. The words felt both frustrated and amused in Erik's head.

 _I'd prefer better odds than just 'might,'_  Erik thought back. He laid down on once more on Charles' bed, pulling Charles down with him—on top of him. Which was...fine. If that's how Charles wanted to sleep.

But Charles slid off to curl up next to him once again. _You're right_ , Charles thought. _We should sleep then_.

Erik really was the most selfish ass in the world, because he was actually disappointed. He mentally shook his head at himself in disgust as he pulled the blankets and his cape over both of them. Staring at the ceiling in the darkness and stroking his hand up and down Charles' back, Erik whispered, “I could never deserve you.”

Shaking his head where it laid against Erik's shoulder, Charles replied, _I'm probably at least as much of a selfish ass as you are_.

 _I doubt that_ , Erik thought, pressing a soft kiss to Charles' forehead. _Now please sleep_.

o0o

Charles woke to the pleasant feel of Erik's warm body next to his and Erik's fingers stroking through his hair. Daylight filtered down through his tiny windows. Yawning, Charles leaned into Erik's touch. “That feels nice.”

“Good.” Erik continued stroking, gentle and soothing. Charles thought he couldn't possibly have a headache ever again if Erik could just keep doing that.

Of course there was little chance that someone with all of Erik's responsibilities could spend a day lazing around in bed. No matter how much Charles wished they could do just that. Sighing, Charles pressed himself closer to Erik's side and asked, “What time is it?”

Erik frowned slightly, his eyes going unfocused for a moment. “About seven.”

“You did that last night as well,” Charles said. He'd been too sleepy at the time to be curious. “How—”

“The clock—in the kitchen,” Erik explained. “It has metal hands.”

Charles grinned. “That's amazing, Erik! What you can do... Your power is brilliant.”

Erik shrugged. “It is convenient.”

“It's also convenient that most of the base is constructed of metal,” Charles pointed out.

“It is,” Erik agreed. “I built it.” After a moment, Erik amended, “Most of it.”

“It's fantastic.” Charles rubbed his cheek against Erik's bicep. “I love it.”

One corner of Erik's mouth turned up. “Thank you.” Then he sighed. “I will have to do some more construction...soon; the group is growing.”

“Am I keeping you from something important? From that?” Charles traced patterns idly on Erik's chest. The man did wear truly fascinating clothes, though they didn't look overly comfortable for sleeping.

“Not really.” Erik chuckled, one arm tightening around Charles' shoulders. He took a breath. “There are things I should do today, yes, but I didn't want to leave before you woke.”

 _Oh_. A broad smile spread across Charles' face and he bit his lip. _Thank you_. He hid his face in Erik's shoulder, breathing in Erik's warm, spicy scent. It smelled like power, like being protected. _I like this—waking up next to you_.

 _We'll have to do it again, then_. Erik's projected thoughts felt both teasing and hopeful.

 _Yeah_. Charles sat up, smiling at Erik. _Definitely_. “I want to kiss you but...I really need to brush my teeth first.”

Erik smiled crookedly. “Yeah, me too.”

Charles settled for kissing Erik's stubbly jaw...and then his neck. The skin of Erik's neck felt incredibly soft under Charles' lips—most of Erik was gloriously firm with a layer of enticing roughness, but Charles was delighted to find such a contrast. He flicked his tongue out—the buttery-soft skin tasted quite a lot like Erik smelled, actually, with a pleasant hint of saltiness.

Erik retaliated by flipping them over, pinning Charles to the bed—one wrist held firmly in each hand—and kissing his forehead, temple, cheek, jaw, and throat.

Panting and flushed, Charles stared up at Erik, wishing harder than he ever thought possible for the full use of his powers. He wanted to _feel_ Erik, and to show him how he himself felt in that moment when words like 'I want you' or 'I love you' or 'I've never felt this way before' just felt terribly inadequate. Trite. Cliche. He wasn't even sure if the words would be true—if he himself even knew what any of that meant, really—but if he could just _show_ Erik what he felt, Erik would understand.

If Charles couldn't show Erik how he felt with his power—couldn't simply project all the desire and affection and wonder directly into Erik's mind—perhaps there was another way to show him. Staring up into Erik's eyes and biting his lip, Charles moved his hips experimentally; Erik had him pressed to the bed with his own hips, and really, the way Erik had lined their bodies up was almost too perfect. As was the feeling of Erik's solid, warm weight on top of him.

The way Erik's eyes widened before clamping shut and his sharp intake of breath were encouraging, so Charles rolled his hips again, intentionally grinding upwards. And, _oh_ , that felt good.

“Charles,” Erik gasped, his voice strangled, his body tense and unmoving.

Suddenly terrified that Erik would tell him to stop, Charles squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.” His voice was a needy whine in his own ears. “Please, Erik.”

Erik let his forehead fall against Charles' shoulder, finally releasing Charles' hands as his grip grew slack. _As if I could say no_.

Charles' eyes flew open and he grinned brightly, running his now free hands up and down Erik's sides and thinking, _Well, come on then_.

Lifting his head once again, Erik looked down at Charles, a flash of helplessness in his eyes. He whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

Staring boldly up at Erik, Charles challenged, “Show me.”

Pushing himself up until he was straddling Charles' hips, Erik hooked his fingers under Charles' shirt and pulled it up, the brush of his knuckles against Charles' abdomen sending delicious thrills of excitement through his body.

Charles lifted his shoulders off the bed and allowed himself to be undressed. Smiling a little uncertainly at Erik, Charles carefully watched his face for a reaction—he knew he wasn't nearly as toned as Erik and he hoped he wouldn't disappoint. But Erik just stared in open, unguarded wonder before finally beginning to touch, fingers brushing lightly over Charles' skin as though he were some precious work of art. Charles relaxed back against the bed, letting his eyes drift closed.

Erik was speaking softly in some language or languages Charles didn't understand, the words sounding like swearing—or perhaps a prayer. Charles grinned, cracking his eyes open once again to peek up at Erik. “Like what you see?”

Swallowing thickly, Erik nodded. “I've never seen anything so...” He shook his head, running his palms down Charles' sides. “Sorry—'beautiful' just doesn't seem... It doesn't seem like enough.”

It was rather nice to be worshipped—really quite nice, in fact—but Charles remembered that Erik did have things to do that day, so this really shouldn't take perhaps as long as they'd both like. And maybe Charles was a little impatient. Maybe just a little. “Take your shirt off too.”

Erik obeyed, and Charles forgot how to close his eyes for several moments. Erik's tanned skin was brushed with warm gold in the soft light, highlighting the mouthwatering contours of defined muscles. He really did look like a hero out of legend.

“God, Erik,” Charles whispered. Feeling almost compelled to touch, Charles allowed his fingers to reach out and do just that. Erik felt deliciously warm and firm. Charles couldn't help grinning.

Erik smiled crookedly down at Charles. _Do I pass inspection?_

Charles eyes flicked up to his face. _God, yes_. He licked his lips then leaned forward and flicked his tongue over one of Erik's nipples, reveling in how it hardened at the touch and at Erik's sharp intake of breath. Resting his forehead against Erik's collarbone, his hands drifting to grasp Erik's hips, Charles smiled ruefully. “I could spend years 'inspecting' you and never tire of it. You're—” Charles swallowed, his voice suddenly rough. “You're everything I've ever wanted, ever could want.”

Taking Charles very gently by the back of the head—oh so obviously careful to avoid touching the incision on his neck—Erik tilted Charles' face upwards until he could look down into his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and rough. “You're more than I could have ever asked for.” And then he kissed Charles under each eye, gentle as a whisper.

Charles' eyes drifted closed and he shivered, hands clutching more desperately at Erik. Erik slid his hands down Charles' back, over Charles' waistband, to settle lower, squeezing experimentally. Charles gasped, eyes flying open and hips jerking forward involuntarily.

Erik caught his gaze with a concerned look. “All right?"

“Yeah.” Charles intentionally rolled his hips against Erik. “Definitely.” Fumbling with Erik's waistband, he said plaintively, “I want to see. All of you.”

There was nothing graceful about the way Erik tugged off his trousers, kneeling on the bed, still straddling Charles. Not that Charles cared, because it didn't take too long and then he _could_ see all of Erik. Or all that was facing him, and that was...a lot. “Wow,” he breathed, eyes wide. Then he laughed, shaking his head a bit. “Sorry, I don't seem terribly eloquent at the moment. I do like what I see, though.” He looked into Erik's eyes, his expression serious. “Very much.”

Erik grinned at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I'm glad.”

“I should...” Charles moved to shimmy out of his own pants, blushing at how Erik's avid gaze followed his movements. It seemed Erik could make him blush like he was fourteen again. Finally managing to wriggle completely out of his pants, Charles kicked them aside, uncaring where they fell. Letting out a breath as he laid back on the bed, he squirmed with impatience and demanded, “Touch me.”

So Erik _did_ —right hand ghosting across Charles' abdomen to settle possessively atop his hipbone and left hand... _oh_. Charles arched up into the touch, gasping. “I—” Charles ran shaky hands down Erik's wonderfully toned thighs. “Please.” Grabbing Erik's arms, he pulled the other man down on top of him. _Like we were before_. The skin to skin contact was glorious and Charles couldn't help writhing, grasping at Erik's back in an attempt to pull him closer as Erik's hands stroked maddeningly up and down Charles' sides from the top of his ribcage to his thighs. Charles rolled his hips up against Erik's, feeling a thrill at the evidence of Erik's arousal pressing back against him. _Like this—will this be enough?_ He wasn't sure how to ask about Erik's specific preferences; normally, he would simply have plucked heady desires out of his partner's mind, but of course he couldn't this time. And he wasn't sure Erik would appreciate any conversation starting with, 'All the other times I've had sex...' or, 'Most of my previous partners...' Especially not right now.

“Absolutely,” Erik said and Charles wondered fleetingly if Erik would just go along with anything he suggested. And also if Charles would even mind if that were true. God, it just felt _so good_ —Erik slowly rolling his own hips in response to Charles' thrusts, all controlled power and effortless grace—that Charles found it difficult to care about anything else.

“Feels good,” he mumbled against Erik's shoulder. “So good.”

“Yeah.” Erik's breathing was ragged as he trailed open-mouthed kisses up and down Charles' neck and across his collarbone. He kissed his way up the other side of Charles' neck then scraped his teeth over Charles' ear, fingers twisting through Charles' hair.

Charles' climax gripped him unexpectedly when Erik tugged at his hair while grinding down against him. It was an indistinct length of time clutching helplessly at Erik while overcome with sensation before he realized Erik, too, had climaxed and was now nuzzling contentedly at Charles' neck, projecting languid snatches of thought like, _So beautiful_ , and, _Mine to protect_ , and, _So damn lucky—don't deserve him_ , and, a fervent, oft-repeated, _Mine_ , that had Charles grinning broadly even as he turned to hide his face against Erik's muscled bicep as he felt himself blush.

“Charles?” Erik asked softly, tentative fingers stroking through his hair.

 _You were projecting_ , Charles explained, pressing his nose against Erik's skin, breathing in his scent. _And I think_ _I like you being possessive_.

Erik chuckled softly and kissed Charles on the temple. _I'm just glad you're not...offended_.

“Perhaps I should be.” Charles kissed Erik's arm then turned his head to look up at Erik again. “I suppose I can always be offended later. Right now...” He shifted slightly and grimaced. “We really need to get cleaned up.”

“Right.” Groaning, Erik rolled off of Charles, looking at the mess they'd made with a raised eyebrow. “I really should install some ensuite bathrooms.”

“That would be convenient,” Charles agreed, reaching for his discarded shirt. “I suppose I'll have to do laundry today as well.”

“I suppose so.” Erik leaned in and nipped at Charles' ear. “For now, let's take a shower.”

“Together?” Sitting on the edge of his bed to pull on his sweatpants, Charles looked back over his shoulder at Erik and raised an eyebrow. “Would we both fit?”

Sliding forward to sit next to Charles, Erik began pulling on his own pants. “If we didn't, I could always just make the stall bigger.” He flashed a grin at Charles. “But I'm almost one-hundred percent sure we'll fit.”

o0o

It turned out they did fit, so long as they didn't mind touching, and Erik very much did not mind. Nor did Charles, apparently, since he didn't complain. Thankfully, they hadn't run into anyone in the hallway between Charles' room and the bathroom; Erik was relatively sure everyone but Scott would have been able to tell at a glance exactly how they'd spent their morning thus far.

As Erik ran soapy hands over Charles' water-slicked skin, Charles shuddered and leaned against him, tongue flicking out to lick beads of water off his chest. _I like how you taste_ , Charles explained.

“I really don't mind,” Erik said, tightening his grip as best he could and pulling Charles closer. _I like that you like how I taste_. It was a pretty idiotic thing to say, but Charles just grinned and licked him some more, standing on his toes to suck a drop of water off his earlobe.

o0o

After a simple breakfast of toast and jam which Charles had insisted on making for both himself and Erik—Charles' cooking skills were admittedly sketchy, but Erik's indulgent smile as he patiently watched Charles work had been quite gratifying—Charles sought out Hank in his lab.

“Charles.” Hank looked up from his worktable with a smile that quickly turned into a concerned frown. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel great.” Charles drummed his fingers on the edge of the metal table. “I did have to take one of the new painkillers last evening, but I'm fine now—the pills seemed to work great, by the way, so you know. And, uh, sleep—always good for headaches.” His fingers twitched, wanting to scratch at the back of his neck.

Hank nodded thoughtfully. “That's good. And yes, do try to get proper rest; you're still recovering. And sleep is of paramount importance even for the most healthy of us. Did anything in particular seem to trigger the headache this time?”

“No.” Charles shook his head. “I was just—Erik and I were playing chess. The headache seemed pretty random.”

Hank nodded. “I'm just trying to...” He shrugged his massive shoulders awkwardly. “To be a doctor.”

“Hank, I—” Charles gripped the edge of the table with both hands, taking a few careful breaths. The metal was cool and unyielding under his fingers. “I know you're probably busy with other things right now so you probably haven't had the time to work out how to deactivate or remove th-the chip, and I know I'd said I didn't want you to, so of course that wouldn't be a priority—nor should it, since you now have Scott to think about, and obviously his...his problem is a lot more serious, more urgent—but I just wanted you to know that I—I've, well, I've come to a decision. A-about the chip. If and when it does become possible, I do want it gone—out—off—whatever...whatever option...” Charles blinked several times, reaching up to tug at his hair but stopping halfway and letting his hand fall back to his side. “What I mean is that I believe I could learn to control my power—here, with all of you. And no one would be in—in any real danger.”

Setting his tools down, Hank walked around the table and grasped Charles' elbow comfortingly. “I wish I could assist you right now, Charles. I wish I knew _how_ to help you. But you're right...I've been working on Scott's problem since he and his brother arrived. Once I've got that figured out, though, you _will_ be my priority.” Gesturing vaguely towards the worktable, Hank asked, “You wouldn't happen to have an interest in the sciences, would you?”

“I've always loved science.” Charles smiled brightly at him. “Is there something I could do to help? I always got top marks in all the sciences in school. I was going—I would have—well, I dare say I may have done rather well in university... There was a time I dreamed of being a doctor, even. Or a teacher...” He glanced down, smiling a little and shaking his head. “I had a lot of dreams as a child.”

Hank nodded, his eyes gentle. “I do think you could help me, yes.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled lopsidedly. “If you don't mind me telling you what to do, that is.”

Charles grinned broadly at him. “Don't mind at all.” Being able to help Hank, to help Scott, to help the Brotherhood...that sounded truly wonderful. 'Doctor McCoy's Lab Assistant' sounded far more respectable than 'Magneto's Boyfriend' after all. Not that Charles minded the boyfriend thing—at all—but he wanted to be good for a bit more than just that. “I'll try my best to be a good student, a good assistant, whatever you need.”

o0o

“It's ruby-quartz,” Hank explained, showing Charles the specialized goggles he was constructing. “It should be able to fully block the energy beams while allowing Scott to see.” He pushed his own glasses up his nose. “Scott and Alex discovered quite by accident that Scott's power can't hurt his brother, or himself for that matter. And, of course, Alex can't harm himself with his own power either—it wouldn't be very adaptive for any mutant to be harmed by his or her own power. So, I did some tests, and it turns out there's a psionic field...they both have it—identical, the same exact frequency. I'm quite sure that Scott would also be unharmed by Alex's ability, but he, understandably, is hesitant to test that theory.”

“Of course,” Charles interjected. He wouldn't be eager to test such a theory either were he in Alex's position.

Hank nodded. “Once I was able to isolate the frequency of the field, it was just a matter of finding a crystal that resonates at that same frequency. Azazel took Alex and myself with him to pick up the crystal—we figured it was the most prudent use of our time, to test the crystals in the field. And, as it turns out, his energy blasts have no effect on the crystals whatsoever. And the beams do not pass through the crystals either, so they do act as an effective barrier.”

“I'm sure Scott will be relieved to have the use of his eyes back.” Charles smiled softly. Suddenly, a small frown creased his forehead. “But if this blocks his power—effectively leaves him unable to use it, how...I mean, Erik won't exactly approve.”

“I had thought of that.” Hank flashed him a wry smile. “I do have plans for a more complex pair of goggles, one that would allow him to use it, to control it at will. Those, admittedly, are far more ambitious, and constructing them will be a more intricate process.” Hank sighed. “Scott's power, like his brother's, is very combat-oriented with few mundane uses. The second set of goggles would be for situations where he might use his power, and these would be for everyday—and, indeed, night; I have attempted to make them comfortable enough for him to sleep in, for obvious reasons.”

Charles smiled brightly. “You're brilliant, Hank. You've devised a solution that should please everyone.”

“Thank you.” Hank smiled self-consciously then looked down and shuffled his feet nervously. “Ah, about—about Magneto...” He took a breath and glanced sideways at Charles before focusing his gaze back on the unfinished goggles before him. “Your...relationship with him. As your—both of your—physician, I should make it unambiguous that should you—either of you—need any information on—on safety, I can provide that.”

Charles wondered just who all knew of his relationship with Erik. It did seem refreshingly accepted here, though. Hank was clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but Charles doubted he'd have an easy time finding another doctor anywhere who would provide the sort of information Hank was offering even if asked. Not that Charles had ever needed to ask.

Setting down his tools, Hank walked across the lab to where a row of metal cupboards hung above a metal counter along one wall, saying, “We also...Magneto already knows this of course, but in case you didn't, we do have certain related supplies always available...here.” He indicated and then opened a cupboard door adorned with a red heart-shaped sticker. It turned out 'supplies' meant exactly what Charles had expected—it seemed the Brotherhood was quite sold on the idea of 'safe sex'. Charles very much approved. “Azazel keeps it well stocked, but if there's anything—any specific brand or anything—that you'd prefer, write it here.” He pointed to the lined paper affixed to the inside of the door.

“Thank you.” Charles smiled kindly at him. “And thank you for the offer of information; I appreciate it. I do not, however, believe I'll need it. I've read up on the subject—quite extensively, actually—and of course when I had full use of my powers I had been able to glean quite a bit of information directly from the minds of others. I understand the risks and am very aware of the ways to mitigate those risks.”

Hank scratched at the fur on the top of his head, staring at the metal countertop. “There are certain acts...more potentially detrimental...”

“I know,” Charles cut in. “And we haven't—everything we've done has been quite safe, I assure you. I'm not exactly—” He tried to suppress a grin. “—new at this.”

“All right.” Leaning back against the counter, Hank let out a breath. Frowning thoughtfully, he said, “With your telepathy, you must have had a very...unique childhood.”

“That I did,” Charles agreed. “I suppose I was never exactly innocent.”

Hank shook his head. “I grew up believing myself a freak, and my parents—who I know generally meant well—taught me to hide my 'deformity,' but...I can't say I envy you, Charles.”

Charles shrugged, trying not to wince at the pang of sympathy he felt for Hank, for a childhood spent ashamed of being different. “It wasn't all bad. Yes, I saw many terrifying things about people, but at the same time, I saw so much beauty. It's difficult to hate a person when you can feel what he feels, see the world through his eyes, if even for a moment.”

Hank's expression was considering as he looked at Charles. “Have you never hated anyone, then?”

Charles shook his head, his lips turning up at one side. “I don't know if I _could_ , actually.” He looked down. “Nor would I want to.” Looking back up to meet Hank's eyes, he added, “Hatred is a painful and destructive thing. I've felt enough of it from others, seen enough of the effect it has on their own minds. I would never want to feel that myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the “science” here about ruby-quartz and psionic fields is from X-Men canon. I couldn't make this crap up if I tried... :P
> 
> And also...a lot happens in this chapter, and I'd really love to know what you thought of it. ;)


	9. Valued, Treasured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is more terrifying than the devil, Azazel gives Erik some advice, and Erik gives Charles a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who would rather read the T-rated version of this chapter, it's available on FFN: [T Rated "Chipped" Chapter 9](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10228382/9/Chipped).

Erik stretched out his power, feeling the sturdy weight of the newly-reinforced training room all around them like a tortoise's shell, like armour. The two Summers boys stood in the middle of the room, facing one another. After carefully making sure the red-lensed glasses were securely fitted over Scott's eyes, Charles and Beast had retreated to stand near Erik.

“We're clear,” Beast said.

Alex nodded, though he of course must have already seen they were nowhere near where his brother might hit were the glasses to fail.

“Whenever you're ready, Scott,” Charles added encouragingly.

Shaking his head, Scott grabbed for Alex's hand.

“Hey, it's okay,” Alex said, gently ruffling his brother's hair. “You can't hurt me, remember?”

Scott nodded. “I remember.”

“Come on, Scott,” Alex said as though he were trying to convince a much younger child to try an unfamiliar vegetable. “Open your eyes.”

After a short moment, Scott let out a soft gasp. Erik could hear the grin in his voice when he said, “They're working!”

“That's great, Scotty!” Alex grinned broadly.

Clutching at Alex's hand, Scott hesitantly asked, “Can I turn around then?”

“Of course you can,” his brother replied. “Doctor McCoy, Charles, and Magneto are here.”

Turning to face Erik and the others, Scott grinned joyfully at them. “The glasses work!” Face turning solemn, he asked, “Which one of you is Doctor McCoy?”

Erik and Charles both turned slightly to look at Hank who cleared his throat and replied, “I am.”

Running up to the furry, blue doctor, Scott threw his arms around him, saying, “Thank you. Thank you for the glasses so I can see again.” Pulling back to look up at Hank, he added, “And for taking care of me.” Then, grinning crookedly he said, “You're like a monster from 'Sesame Street.'”

Erik couldn't help wincing slightly at the word 'monster,' but both Charles and Hank were grinning like the child had said something positively adorable, and Alex was chuckling and ruffling his brother's hair affectionately.

_'Sesame Street'?_ Erik asked Charles.

_You...you've never seen it?_ Charles shot a small frown his way, one eyebrow raised. _It's a children's program with puppets: Cookie Monster, Grover...H_ _e_ _rry Monster—they're all blue and furry_.

_Ah_. Erik nodded, understanding. Though why Charles seemed so surprised that he was unfamiliar with televised puppet shows was...less easy to grasp.

“Charles helped make your glasses,” Hank was telling Scott.

“That's me,” Charles supplied helpfully with a small wave. “Though I really did very little; I'm still quite new to the position of Lab Assistant.”

Trust Charles to downplay his own importance, his own contributions. These 'everyday' glasses as McCoy had described them had taken a surprisingly short amount of time, even compared to what Erik had come to expect from his doctor. He didn't doubt an extra pair of hands came in...well, handy. Erik was quite glad he hadn't said anything quite that stupid out loud. Recently.

Untangling himself from Beast, Scott gave Charles an enthusiastic hug as well. “Thank you for helping.”

“It was my pleasure,” Charles said with a sincere smile, gently stroking the boy's hair. “I'm just so glad you can see now. And Doctor McCoy and I will soon have a special pair of goggles ready for you that will let you control your power. Won't that be lovely?”

Stepping back until he was leaning against Alex, Scott shrugged one shoulder, chewing on his bottom lip. “I guess.” He scuffed at the floor, looking down, then suddenly looked back up at Beast, blurting out, “You don't have to bother; these glasses are fine.”

“The other goggles will actually allow you to _use_ your power,” Erik cut in. He hadn't intended for his voice to sound so hard.

Behind the red lenses, Erik imagined Scott was staring at him. Nodding slowly, Scott just said, “I know.”

“Scott,” Alex said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. “This is Magneto; he's the leader of the Brotherhood, and he's very kindly let us stay here after he rescued us from that lab. He's a very important man.”

Erik tried to ignore the way Charles smirked at the 'important man' comment. “Yes,” Erik said. “I'm very glad the Brotherhood has been able to help you, Scott. I hope you enjoy exploring our base now that you can see it. And when the other goggles are ready, I hope you'll enjoy being able to use your power at will—this, where we are now, is our training room, and you'll be able to practice using your powers in here.”

Nodding solemnly, Scott swallowed, pressing his shoulders back against his brother's legs.

_You don't have to terrify the poor child_ , Charles chided in his head.

_I wasn't intending to_ , Erik protested.

After shooting Erik a soft, sympathetic smile, Charles said to Scott, “There is one more person who helped make your glasses, if you'd like to thank him.”

Brightening, Scott nodded.

Charles' eyes grew unfocused and his brows drew together in concentration for a few moments and then Azazel appeared in a puff of sulphurous smoke, quirking an eyebrow at Charles who smiled brightly at him. “Scott,” Charles said, turning his attention to the boy. “This is Azazel. He helped Doctor McCoy find the crystals we used to make your glasses. He's also the one who brought you here the day you were rescued.”

Azazel's tail moved lazily about his legs as he smiled lopsidedly down at Scott, spreading his arms at his sides with a dramatic flourish. “You can see me now—do I alarm you?”

Squaring his shoulders, Scott stepped forward and held out his hand to Azazel. “Thank you for helping me—and my brother.”

Accepting the handshake, Azazel grinned at Alex then at Charles. Looking back down at Scott, he said, “I am very glad I could help.”

Someone mentioned something about eating—supper, Erik thought—and then Alex, Scott, Charles, and Hank filed out of the room leaving Erik and Azazel behind. Erik was still trying to decide why he was apparently more terrifying than the guy who looked like the devil, when Azazel spoke, “I like these children; we should find more of them. Adorable.”

“Children?” Erik quirked an eyebrow at him. “You make it sound like we have more than one.”

Azazel smiled crookedly. “Don't we?”

Erik narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Not only is Alex clearly a teenager, but he's hardly 'adorable.'”

“This Charles is adorable, though, no?” Azazel bared his teeth in a terrifying approximation of a smile.

Erik told himself that if Azazel did that in front of Scott, the kid couldn't help but be scared. But of course it was what Azazel had said that was important. Erik's jaw clenched, teeth pressing against each other in a way that was sure to cause a headache if he didn't stop. “Charles is not a child.” Charles was older than Alex, in fact.

“He's what, eighteen?” Azazel gestured vaguely with one hand.

“Nineteen,” Erik ground out.

One side of Azazel's mouth turned up. His eyes were mocking. “Oh, of course. So I suppose he is not a child after all.” He looked away across the training room, pushing his large red hands into the pockets of his slacks, then looked back at Erik. “He is still adorable, though.”

Erik couldn't exactly argue with that, but... He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What's your point?”

Azazel gave him a serious look. “None of us like to see him cry.” Looking away across the room again, Azazel added, “He seems happy now—this is good. You should make sure he stays this way, or—” He shot Erik a dark look. “—someone else will.” A smile played at the corners of Azazel's lips. “This is not a threat, Magneto, merely an observation. Or...friendly advice. Take it however you will.”

o0o

_Charles?_ As Erik walked through the hallways, he could feel the distinctive, unmistakable bit of metal that was the mutation-suppression device in Charles' head hovering near the table in the kitchen.

_We're in the kitchen_ , Charles replied.

_I know_. Erik suppressed a wince; he'd like very much to have some other—any other—way to track Charles' movements with his power.

_Alex is making macaroni and cheese—Hank is making a salad; would you like to join us?_

_That sounds good_. Entering the kitchen, Erik walked up behind Charles and wrapped his arms around him. He buried his nose in Charles' soft, brown hair. _You smell good_.

Turning his head to smile brilliantly at him over his shoulder, Charles said, “Erik,” then leaned back against him, resting his head on Erik's shoulder and sighing contentedly. “Will Azazel be joining us for dinner as well?”

“You'd have to ask him.” Erik's arms tightened involuntarily around Charles as he tried earnestly not to project the most blatant of his possessive thoughts. _What do you think of Azazel?_

_I must admit I don't know him very well_ _yet_ _, but_ _he hasn't given me any reason to dislike him_ _. His mutation, of course, is infinitely fascinating_. Frowning slightly, Charles glanced back at Erik. _Why do you ask?_

Erik hummed against the side of Charles' neck. _I think he may have just threatened to steal you from me_.

Charles let out a soft, surprised laugh. _I suppose he can try_. Turning his head to look into Erik's eyes once again, Charles added, _It's not going to work,_ _of course_.

_Good_ , Erik thought, kissing him.

“Wow,” Alex said, spoon stilling in his hand as his eyes widened in shock.

Beast cleared his throat awkwardly while determinedly scraping chopped cucumber from the small cutting board into the salad bowl before beginning to methodically chop an apple.

And Scott just sat perfectly still in his chair, apparently staring at Erik and Charles from behind the red lenses of his glasses.

Blushing slightly and ducking his head, Charles asked in a low voice, “In front of Scott, Erik?”

Erik raised his chin and looked unapologetically at the assembled mutants. “And why not? We should never be ashamed of who and what we are. Or who we love.”

Flashing Erik what was perhaps the most blinding smile he'd seen to date, Charles straightened in Erik's grasp without pulling away. “No, I suppose we should not.”

o0o

After they had eaten, Charles followed Erik to his room on the pretext of playing chess, but as soon as the door closed behind them, he had Erik pressed against it, kissing him fiercely. _If you want to play chess_ , Charles' voice murmured in his mind, _that would be lovely, but I want to do this first_.

And then Charles was on his knees and Erik's head hit the metal door at his back with a dull thud. “Charles,” he gasped.

_Yes?_ Charles rubbed his cheek cat-like against Erik's thigh then smiled impishly up at him. His hand rested against Erik's other thigh, the heat tantalizing through the fabric of Erik's trousers.

One of Erik's hands found its way to Charles' head, very gently stroking his hair. _Wouldn't this be more comfortable on the bed?_

Raising one eyebrow and quirking up one side of his lips, Charles conceded, “Perhaps.” His breath made the material in front of his mouth warm and slightly damp. “But if you don't mind terribly, I'd like to do it this way.” Sliding his hands up to grip Erik's hipbones, he regarded him through his lashes.

_Would you be at all offended if we moved to the bed before I return the favour?_ Erik asked, unsure how he was even still managing coherent thoughts, let alone complicated sentences.

Charles laughed, resting his forehead against Erik's abdomen and shaking his head slightly. _Of course not. And you're wonderful. I just thought you should know that_.

o0o

Charles reclined on Erik's pleasantly rumpled bed, stroking a captured pawn absently as he considered his next move. Erik sat across the chessboard from him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his crossed legs. When the metal pawn in Charles' hand vibrated almost as if it were pleased with the attention, his gaze flew to Erik's face.

Erik smirked lazily at him. “Were you going to make a move anytime soon?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Charles said, affecting an apologetic expression. “Were you getting bored?” He rubbed his thumb deliberately over the smooth round head of the pawn and then—looking back at the board as though lost in thought—brought it to his mouth, rubbing it ever so casually across his bottom lip. He couldn't resist peeking at Erik though his lashes to judge his reaction.

Erik's mouth was open and his eyes were wide, staring at the pawn in Charles' hand as though they were drawn by a magnet—which, in a way, Charles supposed they were.

Closing the pawn in his fist, Charles suddenly started laughing. “Erik,” he insisted, trying valiantly to calm himself enough to speak clearly, “you couldn't possibly. Not after...”

Erik smiled easily at him, apparently not offended by Charles' levity. “I'm afraid my imagination has a rather optimistic view of my physical stamina.”

“I'm sorry,” Charles said, finally calming his laughter and setting down the pawn before finally moving another one. “It's my fault of course; I was—well, clearly I was intentionally provoking you.”

“You enjoy the attention,” Erik commented, capturing Charles' pawn with one of his own. “I have noticed.”

Dropping his gaze to the corner of the chessboard, Charles bit his lip. “You don't—you don't mind?”

Chuckling warmly, Erik reached across the board to gently stroke Charles' cheek with his knuckles. “How could I?”

Charles swallowed. He felt as though he should return Erik's smile, and the way Erik's eyes crinkled up at the corners was truly endearing, but he found he couldn't at the moment, and he wasn't even sure why. Erik had all but said he loved him, in front of Hank and Alex and Scott no less. And it seemed—even without proper use of his telepathy—that Erik truly did care very deeply about him, perhaps even love him, though Charles knew that meant different things to different people, even when they were all being one-hundred percent honest.

Erik interrupted Charles' thoughts by saying, “I want to make you something. A gift—something you could wear—a necklace, a bracelet, a ring?”

“Something I could wear always?” That was truly a lovely idea.

“If you wanted.” Erik was smiling perhaps the softest smile Charles had seen from him.

Charles' brain was stuttering a bit over the presented options. A ring certainly had its appeal, but... “Could you make a bracelet or a necklace that only you would be able to remove? Without a clasp or...” Charles picked at a loose thread on Erik's blanket, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh,” Erik said, the word a quiet exhalation. “I could—is that what you want?”

Charles nodded, two tiny jerks of his head. _Please_.

“Then I will.” Leaning across the chessboard, Erik took Charles' face in his hands and looked into his eyes then closed the distance between them and kissed him, a soft press and a gentle brush of his lips over Charles' own.

“I—” Closing his eyes for a moment, Charles let out a shaky breath. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course you can.” Erik sounded surprised and a little confused. _Of course you can_.

Charles managed a smile for him then.

As Charles returned his attention to the chessboard, Erik pulled the bottommost of his chest of drawers open, floating out a metal box and began sorting through the contents with his power. “Would you prefer links or one solid piece?”

“Oh.” Charles slid his bishop forward, attacking Erik's unguarded knight. “For a necklace, I suppose links would be much more comfortable, but for a bracelet it really wouldn't matter, would it?”

“Hmm.” Erik spun several shiny bits of metal in the air in front of him—some silvery, others shades of gold to copper. “If it's something you can't take off, links would probably be more comfortable regardless. Especially for sleeping.”

Charles nodded. “I suppose you're right.” Looking down at the board, he added, “It's your move.”

Without even glancing at the board much less touching any of the pieces, Erik moved his rook to guard his knight. He grinned blithely at Charles, the bits of metal tracing smooth patterns in the air. As they started forming themselves into links, Charles completely forgot about the game, too entranced by the sight. It reminded him a little of how he'd always imagined a dragon might fly, twisting itself about in the air as the sun flashed off its scales, as its own eyes glowed like coals in the hearth. It reminded him a little of fireflies, floating unconcernedly, unaware of how their beauty called to the hearts of dreamers everywhere.

“So,” Erik said once he had a length of glossy chain formed, “necklace or bracelet?”

The word 'both' stuck in Charles' throat, and he was pretty sure he hadn't quite projected it either. He swallowed. It wouldn't do to be greedy, not when Erik was offering him a gift. “What—what kinds of metal are you using?”

“Silver,” Erik answered, “gold, platinum, and copper. I, uh—” Erik glanced down then back up at the metal he was manipulating. “I want it to be unique, distinctive; something I can easily recognize. I have some titanium, but not here with me. If you wanted, I could probably acquire some adamantium or even vibranium.”

“No this—just this—is perfect.” Charles grinned. “And, um—” Charles glanced down, tugging at the cuff of his shirt and twisting a loose thread he found there between his fingers. “I think I'd like to be able to see it—easily, when I'm wearing it, so make it a bracelet.” After a brief pause he added, “Please.”

“Hold out your wrist.” Erik's voice was soft.

Charles offered up his left wrist as instructed, and the chain snaked smoothly over his skin, encircling his wrist and fusing together at the ends. Charles blinked. He could no longer tell where the ends had even been. He turned his wrist, shaking it slightly, experimentally.

“How does it feel?” Erik asked.

It felt like being desired, like being valued, treasured. Charles swallowed, blinking several times.

“I can change it, change anything about it of course,” Erik said. “It's important that you like it, and that it's comfortable.”

Fixing Erik with a determined gaze, Charles took a breath. He was sure he was beaming when he began to speak. “It's fantastic, Erik. It's brilliant. I love it.” He all but leaped across the chessboard—uncaring if he jostled the pieces or ruined the game entirely—to straddle Erik's lap. Burying his fingers in Erik's short hair, he kissed him, pulling back to grin at him. Holding his wrist up between them, Charles admired the bracelet, watching the light glint off the different metals as he turned his wrist. It really was far too small to slip over his hand, no matter how he might try—he'd basically need wire-cutters. _If I asked you, would you take this off for me?_

_Of course_. Erik stared up at him, stroking gentle circles on Charles' lower back.

Charles leaned in and nuzzled at Erik's cheekbone. _Then I'll have to be sure not to ask_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...did you notice that important thing Erik said when he said it?
> 
> (Also, they're basically married now, right? ...or at least engaged.)


	10. Bright and Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles makes a visit to his mother's house.

As Charles was finishing washing his breakfast dishes—Erik had made the two of them the most delightful omelets—Raven and Angel wandered into the kitchen followed by Azazel.

“Oh, God, is there coffee?” Raven asked, drifting hopefully towards the coffeepot.

“There is,” Charles answered. Erik had drank a cup before heading off to work on the day's construction projects—Charles hadn't asked for the precise details, but he did hope ensuite bathrooms were somewhere on Erik's longterm to-do list.

Pulling two mugs from the cupboard, Raven filled them both and handed one to Angel before taking a grateful sip of her own.

Raising an eyebrow, Azazel asked, “I should pour my own coffee then?”

Sitting down at the table, Raven wrinkled her nose at him. “I don't care; I only have two hands.”

Azazel shrugged, shaking his head as he got his own mug and filled it then moved to sit on the opposite side of Angel from Raven. Leaning close to Angel but still speaking loud enough for Charles to hear, he asked, “Would you have poured me coffee, my Angel?”

Swallowing a mouthful of her own coffee, Angel set the mug down on the table and raised her eyebrows at him. “Would you have poured me any?”

Azazel looked affronted. “I would have poured you both coffee, even if there was only enough for two.”

Reaching in front of Angel, Raven gave Azazel's hand a squeeze. “I am sorry, dear; I didn't actually realize you were there.”

With a soft, incredulous snort, Azazel sat back in his chair, spreading his hands at his sides. “Should that make me feel better?” Looking to Charles he said, “Can you believe this? I am overlooked, ignored. And even with this outstanding tail.” He flicked the tail, cat-like, for emphasis.

Folding the dishtowel, Charles hung it over the handle of the oven door. “Your tail is lovely, Azazel. Truly spectacular.”

Grinning, Azazel sat forward in his chair and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug once more. “It is good to know someone appreciates me.”

“I—” Charles sighed then sat down in the chair to Azazel's right. “I'm afraid I might be trying to endear myself so you'd be willing to do me a favour.”

Shaking his head, Azazel pulled back his red lips to show startlingly white teeth. “You do not have to _try_ to endear yourself to me, Charles.”

Angel and Raven exchanged a playful glance over the rims of their coffee mugs.

Charles' eyebrows drew together and he resisted the urge to twist his hands together in his lap. _Did you really threaten to steal me from Erik?_ he asked Azazel.

 _Ah now_ , Azazel replied, his voice a roar in Charles' head—not exactly unpleasant, but a little overwhelming, _that is precisely what I did not do. You are not an object and cannot be stolen_.

Charles couldn't help smiling brightly at him for that. _I suppose he must have misunderstood_.

 _Magneto is sometimes quite bad at this 'understanding.'_ Azazel's eyes twinkled. “But what favour did you have to ask of me?”

“Well,” Charles replied, “Hank doesn't exactly need me in the lab today, what with Scott's immediate problem solved, and he had expressed a desire to start a library here—and of course all of us, but Scott especially, would benefit from access to books—and anyway, I do have—or 'had,' rather?” Charles frowned. “What I mean to say is that there are quite a few books for which I am the legal owner, and I would like to be able to retrieve them from my—my mother's house and bring them here.” He let out a breath. “And I should also, of course, let my mother know that I am well, lest she worry unduly. I really haven't the faintest idea how far we currently are from Westchester, but I have been led to believe that you can teleport across any distance instantaneously.”

Azazel nodded. “I can take you anywhere you wish to go.”

“Westchester?” Raven asked, her scaly brow wrinkling. “Upstate New York? That's—well, it's not exactly walking distance.”

“ _Nothing's_ walking distance from here,” Angel contended, rolling her eyes slightly and wrinkling her nose. “Some places are flying distance, though.”

“Ah,” Azazel cut in, “but he did not ask you to take him, did he?”

Angel snorted into her coffee then retorted, “And I'm glad he didn't.” Giving Charles an assessing look, she said, “You're small, Charles, but not _that_ small.” Shaking her head, she lifted her mug to take another sip.

Charles wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment or... It really didn't matter. Turning back to Azazel, he said, “It's no rush, of course—whenever you're ready.” Charles absently fiddled with his bracelet, unused to the feel of it against his skin.

Touching it with one red finger, Azazel asked, “This is new?”

“Oh.” Grinning, Charles tried very hard not to blush. “Yes; Erik made it for me.”

Raven was trying quite unsuccessfully to hide a grin behind her coffee mug, bright yellow eyes dancing.

“Let's see?” Angel's smile was warm. Charles held out his wrist and turned it so they could get a better look, and Angel nodded her approval, exclaiming, “Oh, so pretty!” then adding, “Erik's very good at making things.”

“He is,” Charles agreed, remembering the spectacular show making the bracelet had been. He wondered if that had in fact been the easiest way for Erik to use his power or if he had added some flourishes out of a sense of showmanship.

Draining the last of his coffee, Azazel stood up and walked to the sink to wash the mug. “We can go now, Charles. Unless there is something else you must to do first?”

“No, not exactly.” Charles frowned. “But, breakfast? I don't mean to be an inconvenience...”

Shaking his head, Azazel set the mug in the drain rack and turned to face Charles. “I can eat later.”

“He rarely eats anything before noon,” Raven supplied helpfully with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You really aren't inconveniencing anyone, Charles.”

“All right then.” Sliding his chair back, Charles stood up.

“Hey.” Angel rose and walked to the sink, looking back at Charles over her shoulder. “You need another pair of hands, help carrying books or whatever?”

“Sure.” That probably would be a great help. “If you want.”

Raven twisted her mug on the table between her hands. “I'd offer to come too, Charles, because then we could really overwhelm your mother with shocking mutant stuff—I mean, I know I _could_ do the whole looking like a normal person thing, but I wouldn't.” Turning in her chair, she grinned at Charles. “But I've got... _stuff_ to do. Administrative stuff—you know, second in command stuff.” She sighed, rubbing her fingertips into her temples. “Azazel, do you want my job?”

“Never.” Azazel put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I could never do such a job as you, my darling.” Stepping back, his hands fell back to his sides. “And if I did your job, who would do mine?” Turning to Charles and Angel, he asked, “Are we ready to go then?”

“I'm ready,” Angel said, taking Azazel's hand.

Azazel held out his other hand to Charles, raising one expectant eyebrow, so Charles took it. Azazel's hand was warm, but somehow Charles had expected it to be warmer—associations with hellfire and brimstone or such foolishness, no doubt.

“The address?” Azazel asked.

“1407 Graymalkin Lane, Westchester County, New York,” Charles recited. Then, _Here_ , he added and showed Azazel a mental image—or, more accurately, a quick succession of mental images. _Does that—does that help?_

Azazel nodded, tightening his grip on Charles' hand. _Hold on_ , Azazel's voice whispered in his mind—more of a muted roar than a true whisper, actually, but the intention was clear.

o0o

As they materialized on the lawn behind the Xavier Mansion, the smell of fresh-cut grass wafted up around them, bright and fragile in Charles' nose—it seemed the groundskeeper had been about already. Charles squinted against the morning sun as it lanced his eyes.

“Wow,” Angel breathed. “This is your house?”

Grimacing at the massive shape looming over them, Charles clarified, “Was.”

“Should we wait here, or—?” Azazel gestured vaguely.

“No, no, come on in.” Charles led the way towards the house. “I'll be wanting to pick up a few items from my old room, in addition to the books.” Pausing just before touching the doorknob, Charles let his hand fall back to his side, turning to Azazel. “If my step-father is here, I—” He sighed, looking down and rubbed his palms on the fronts of his trouser-legs. “We might need to—to leave—quickly.”

Azazel placed a comforting hand on Charles' bicep and gave him a kind smile. “I will not let this man hurt you, Charles.”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed, adding her own comforting hand to Charles' arm. “If you want, I can spit on him. It's, uh—it's the less pretty part of my mutation.”

Kurt had never...he'd only tried to protect his own son. Well, he _had_ drugged Charles in order to trick 'consent' out of him, but...Charles mostly tried not to think about that. He was, however, unlikely to approve of Charles' current affiliation with the Brotherhood. Charles made himself smile at both his companions. “Mutants together,” he said, somewhat buoyed by the words.

The other two both nodded, projecting in near unison, _Protecting each other_.

Charles didn't have to make himself smile in response; it came naturally.

o0o

The house was a hideous twisting mass of disorienting memories. The smell of the wood polish, the creak of the stairs under their feet, the eerie hush—all so familiar he almost felt as though he would vomit. He focused on calming his breathing.

“This was my room,” he said, voice sounding oddly dull as he opened the door, the too familiar sound of the hinges catching in the back of his brain. “It doesn't look like much has been touched.” The bed was made, of course. That was always to be expected.

He found two satchels in his closet, the older one a little frayed but still serviceable—the stale smell of laundry soap tickled his nose, begging a sneeze. Handing a satchel to each of his companions, he asked them to fill them from his personal bookshelves as he began to pack a few of his better-loved clothing items into a duffel.

“This room is so big, Charles,” Angel said. “Much nicer than what we have at the Brotherhood base.”

Charles shook his head. The room pressed in around him, all the weight of the house focused on this one point. “It's really not.”

o0o

They had not so much as seen anyone—not even a servant—much less been challenged for their presence. Charles wondered if his mother was perhaps sleeping. Or it could be she was out shopping or visiting a friend. He could write a note for her—he toyed with the corner of a notepad on his old desk—that might be for the best.

“Charles?” His mother's voice, touched with confusion.

Turning, he saw her framed in the doorway, blonde curls glossy in the light from the windows. He hadn't felt her, hadn't felt her approach...couldn't feel her now. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting vertigo. Forcing a polite, cheerful smile, he said, “Mother,” and stepped forward to take her hands in his and kiss her cheek.

“Oh,” she said with a pleasant smile and a small squeeze of his hands. “You're home from the hospital.” Then she finally seemed to notice the others in the room and her eyes grew wide. “Who...?”

“Mother.” Charles took her by the elbow, all smooth society manners. Just what she'd always wanted. “I'd love for you to meet my friends, Angel Salvador and Azazel.” He indicated each in turn. “Angel, Azazel: my mother, Sharon Xavier-Marko.” He'd nearly forgotten to add the 'Marko' name, but his mother wouldn't have approved of the omission.

“I—” Sharon took a breath. “It's always a pleasure to meet friends of Charles'.” Calm, polite, practised. The mask was as familiar as the house, but it was so different to have no sense now of what lay behind it.

Charles actually couldn't remember the last time he'd introduced a friend of his to his mother...possibly never? When had he ever had friends before? Friends that were his and not children of his parents' friends, anyway.

Oh, he did have news—news she would likely appreciate. “I have a new job, Mother; I'm a lab assistant for Doctor Hank McCoy.”

“Oh, how nice.” She touched the side of his face gently with one hand. “You always did love science...so like your father.” Eyes falling to the open duffel on the bed, she asked, “It's too far to commute?”

Charles nodded. “It is quite far.”

She nodded as well, gaze drifting to the carpet. “Well, I do hope you'll come by for dinner sometime, schedules permitting.” She looked back up at his face. “Can you and your friends stay for some refreshments today?”

“Not today, Mother.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But Mother, would it be all right if I took some of the books from Father's old study?”

“Of course, Charles.” She gave him a faint smile. “No one would miss them.”

No, he didn't expect anyone would.

o0o

Erik was finishing the construction on the frame of a second—and third; might as well do two at once—hospital bed in Hank's lab when Azazel popped in, layering the smell of sulphur over the general smells of metal and disinfectant. It took Erik a moment of staring to understand that Charles was in Azazel's arms, cradled limply against his chest. Erik was still trying to scrape together the words to demand, 'What happened?' as Azazel stepped forward to lay Charles carefully on the lone completely constructed bed saying, “Just passed out suddenly, Boss.”

Hank appeared at Charles' side, checking his pulse, being a doctor. Erik wished he knew what to be.

“Have to get Angel,” Azazel said with a small grim twist of his lips and popped back out of the lab.

Erik stood on the opposite side of the bed from the doctor and took Charles' hand in both of his, running his thumb absently over the metal chain about his wrist. “Is he—?” What, 'okay'? Of course Charles wasn't okay. 'Hurt,' then? But Charles had been hurt when Erik first met him, and nothing there had changed.

Glancing up at him from under thick blue eyebrows, Beast sighed. “This is not this first time this has happened, sir.”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut for a second, letting out a breath. He was about to say something else when Azazel appeared once again, hand in hand with Angel. “Books,” Azazel explained, slipping a satchel strap from his shoulder and placing the bag on the floor by his feet.

Similarly unburdening herself, Angel stepped forward, worry painted across her pretty face. “Is he going to be okay, Beast?”

“As far as I can tell,” the doctor answered, “this is no different from the other times he's lost consciousness.” Taking a breath, he looked between Angel and Azazel. “It does certainly seem to be random, but can either of you tell me anything that happened, anything you noticed, anything that might have triggered this?”

“We were in his father's study,” Angel began. “He was packing up books from the shelves there—his mother said he could have them—and he just all of a sudden grabbed his head and...fell.”

“I caught him,” Azazel added. Azazel was fast, of course; Charles grabbing at his head would have been enough warning.

“Thank you,” Erik said, his voice rough. The last thing Charles needed right now was _another_ head injury.

Azazel nodded in acknowledgement.

“I think we got the books he wanted.” Angel looked at the pile of bags they'd brought and bit her lip. “If we—I suppose we can always go back later to get more.”

Charles' hand felt soft in Erik's grip. Erik reminded himself not to grip too tightly.

“He spoke to his mother?” Beast asked.

“Yeah,” Angel answered. “She seemed...well, I don't know what's normal for her, but... She seemed kind of...drugged? Out of it, confused. Charles didn't seem surprised, though, so maybe that's how she usually is? Anyway, she barely reacted to Azazel's appearance. Not that—not that anyone _should_ , but...”

Azazel shook his head, baring his teeth in a bitter smile. “No, it was strange. Most people would not be so, finding the Devil in their son's bedroom.”

“All right.” Beast shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking between the assembled faces. “We can talk to Charles about his mother when he wakes. If her behaviour was unexpected, I'm sure he'd have noticed. But...they didn't argue, raise their voices, anything like that?”

Angel and Azazel both shook their heads.

Azazel shrugged. “Calm—they seemed calm.”

“Polite,” Angel added. “Like, super polite.” She glanced sideways at Azazel. “He calls her 'Mother.' I mean, not 'Mom' or anything: 'Mother.' But I suppose that's not really important...” Suddenly looking back at Beast and taking a small step forward, she added, “He did say—before we went into the house, and it's a _huge_ house by the way—he was worried his step-father might be there. He said we'd have to leave. He _wasn't_ —there, I mean—not that we saw, anyway. But Charles was...”

“Frightened?” Erik supplied. Charles was very clearly terrified of his step-father. Maybe he should have forbidden Azazel from taking Charles to that house... But...Charles had every right to go, and Erik had no right to stop him. Erik was quite sure, though, that if he asked Azazel right then to find this Kurt Marko and kill him, Azazel would take great pleasure in carrying out the order. Erik tried to remember why he shouldn't give that order.

“Yeah.” Angel pressed her lips together, eyes falling on Charles' unconscious form. “We told him we'd protect him,” she added quietly.

“And you did.” Erik hoped his voice sounded calmer than he felt, reassuring. No one could protect Charles from the object lodged in his head—it was a little too late for that. It had always been too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly sure if this counts as a cliffhanger.
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Sharon Xavier-Marko (Charles Xavier's mother) appeared very briefly in 'X-Men: First Class' (in a photograph and impersonated onscreen by Mystique) but was not given a name there; I'm using her Earth-616 name.
> 
> Charles Xavier's father was named Brian Xavier in Earth-616. To date, he has neither appeared nor been mentioned in the X-Men films.


	11. Funhouse Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik reads, Hank doctors, and Charles drifts.

It was nearly night before Charles even began to regain consciousness. Beast had managed to convince Erik to eat half a sandwich—which he didn't taste—and choke down some apple juice. He'd spent the rest of his time distractedly tweaking every possible metal fixture in the lab—and the attached bathroom and office—sharpening scissors and scalpels, easing hinges, removing even the earliest hints of rust from everything, even the outsides of the window frames. Finally, with nothing left to improve—at least not with the available materials—Erik had been about to start tearing his hair out when Beast had suggested that reading to Charles could perhaps having a calming effect on his mind. Whose mind was never made expressly clear, but if Erik could do something that might help Charles even the slightest bit, he wasn't about to say no. He'd pulled books out of Charles' satchels until he found one that wasn't some sort of textbook— _The Once And Future King_ by T. H. White—and settled in a chair next to Charles, starting at page one. He hadn't actually been paying conscious attention to the words, so he really had no idea how far he'd read when Charles shifted and groaned, face screwing up in a grimace and hands tightening into shaky fists in the pale blue hospital blanket.

“Charles?” The book fell closed in Erik's lap as he reached out, taking Charles' hand and stroking his hair ever so gently.

Turning his head towards Erik, Charles blinked a few times, seeming unable to focus. “Wha—” Groaning again, he squeezed his eyes shut once more, turning his face into the thin pillow. _Erik?_ Charles' voice in his head sounded fuzzy. And there were tears on Charles' face that dampened the pillowcase as Charles' hand grasped Erik's so hard it hurt.

_I'm here. I'm here, Charles_ , he thought as reassuringly as he could while saying aloud, “Beast! He's—please, I—I think he's in pain.”

Rolling onto his side on the narrow bed, Charles pressed his face further into the pillow, his jaw clenching. Sweat appeared over all his skin, dampening his hair into exhausted little curls across his forehead, around his ears, and at the back of his neck. His fingernails dug sharp little curves into Erik's wrist.

And then Beast was finally there, speaking softly as he tried to coax a small white tablet past uncooperative teeth. Charles choked on the first mouthful of water, lurching forward and spewing it across the blanket, leaving an irregular sprinkling of darker spots on the thin fabric. Tilting his head forward, Charles reached up with both hands, clawing at the incision on the back of his neck before Erik and Hank moved as one to stop him. The doctor, it turned out, had a needle of something that caused Charles to go limp almost instantaneously. Blinking up at Erik from where he collapsed on the bed, he moved his hand weakly, so Erik took it, stroking it in a way he fervently hoped was soothing—Charles closed his eyes, lips pulling sleepily into something like a smile, so it could be Erik was succeeding.

Though it may have just been whatever was in Beast's needle.

o0o

Charles' eyelids felt so very heavy, as though staying open for any length of time was far too difficult a prospect to even consider. The sharp pain of the needle was a small price to pay for this reprieve from the claws that had been shredding his brain. They weren't gone even then of course, but they were blissfully muted, wrapped in morning dew and candyfloss.

Erik was there, holding his hand. Charles wished he could focus well enough to see his eyes—he did so love Erik's eyes and all the emotion he might glimpse there.

All painkillers wear off in time, and so too would this one. Then, the claws would be freed to gouge into his mind once again. Charles whimpered at the thought. How could anyone be expected to endure...?

Erik and Hank were talking. Charles tried to listen, but their words slipped away like silvery minnows, flashing in the refracted sunlight, ever out of reach. Maybe if he stayed quite still in the shallows, the minnows would return.

But why was he all alone, on the bed? Erik was there, and Charles wanted to be in Erik's arms, wrapped in his cape, wanted to be safe. Touching just their hands could never be enough—Charles' whole body needed to be surrounded by Erik's warmth, Erik's solid strength.

Erik...there was something important—well, Erik was important, surely, but—there was something...

What if Erik didn't know? Didn't realize? What if Charles never got a chance? What if the claws ripped into his brain and pulled it all out in bloody handfuls, crushed and careless?

Sometimes, words were important, after all.

Willing his eyes—dammit, why couldn't his body just _obey_?—to open, Charles tried once again to focus. It seemed Hank was gone now—unlikely far and likely to do some doctor thing. Erik was still at his side, still holding his hand. Erik was his castle, his fortress, the tower he could hide in while desolation swept the land.

“Erik...” Charles was fairly certain he'd said that out loud. Maybe he could manage a few more words. There was something he'd wanted to—needed to?—say. “I—” Well, he wanted to be in Erik's arms, but that didn't seem quite...momentous enough to warrant all this trouble.

_Charles, I'm here_.

Charles winced. Erik's voice in his head was as smooth as ever, so why did it _hurt_? He tried thinking back, _I know_ , but that hurt even worse. He may have felt tears in his eyes, may have felt tears slipping delicately across his skin before Erik brushed them away, so much care in those powerful hands. Charles had always loved...

Oh, that was it. Not just his hands, of course. He had to say it before...well, before. “Love...you...” Had he managed to say the words aloud? He tried saying them again, but Erik was kissing his forehead, his temples, his cheeks, his chin—lips kind as a summer rain.

Erik's voice, speaking aloud, words still minnow-like, but maybe—maybe Charles was learning to catch minnows. He was fairly certain he heard his name and the word “love” being repeated back to him. Oh, but Erik didn't need to say it—hadn't he already said it long ago?

And because he couldn't remember why he shouldn't be able to, Charles tried to let all of that love wash over Erik, to let Erik feel it. It should have been as easy as breathing. It wasn't. The candyfloss-dampened claws closed around his mind in a terrible, inescapable fist and all went dark.

o0o

“I don't—I can't know for sure,” Beast said, pulling off his glasses and hunching his shoulders as he stared at the surface of his desk.

“But it _is_ likely the suppression device is causing this.” Erik was pacing. Beast's office really wasn't large enough to pace properly, but the walls were metal, so Erik could make it bigger if he really wanted... He rubbed one hand over his mouth, the roughness of his stubble catching on his fingers.

“Yes, that is quite—” Folding his glasses with one hand and placing them on his desk, Beast pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “That's not precisely the point, though. If I operate...I might end up damaging him further.”

“There are always risks...” Risks Erik didn't want to think about because they were risks _to Charles_. Charles, who'd said he loved him—he might not have been lucid enough to know what he was saying, but he'd said it through the drugs and through the pain as if it was really _that_ important.

Pressing his hands on the surface of his desk, Beast stood up, nodding. “There are. And if I don't operate, he—that thing in his head, I can only assume it's malfunctioning and spectacularly, and...” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second before adding, “We might not have...time.”

Erik froze, eyes wide as he regarded the other mutant. “He—you can't—” Erik needed to kill something, to destroy something. Preferably the 'doctors' who did this to Charles, and his damn step-father too. The very worst sort of humanity. _Apparently_ , they were in a minority; _apparently_ most humans were, at the least, generally...fine. Okay. Probably harmless. But sometimes...sometimes it seemed as though the entire accursed species deserved to be wiped off the face of the Earth. And even the innocent ones sat idly by and let the worst ones do evil unchallenged. Erik swallowed past the mass of helpless horror in his throat, wrenching his power in, holding it back so tightly it made his teeth hurt—now was not a time he could afford to lose control, not when the man he loved lay helpless in the next room with a sickening hunk of metal already lodged in his brain like an assassin, crouched at the ready. “The decision was supposed to be Charles'.” That had been important, once.

Beast inclined his head, face softening. “And he made it. He told me he wanted the chip gone, or at least deactivated.”

Catching ahold of the back of the nearest metal chair with both hands, Erik let out a long breath. His legs were shaky but he stubbornly remained standing. Clenching his jaw, he squeezed his eyes shut. Then he took a breath and looked Beast in the eye. His voice was steady when he finally spoke, “Then you don't need _me_ to tell you to do this, Beast.”

Beast sighed, his entire body relaxing somewhat. He picked up his glasses. “I might need— Do you think you would be able to assist me? Your power, I mean; it could prove advantageous.”

“Yes.” Erik took a few breaths, trying to calm the shaking in his hands, in his chest. “I can.”

o0o

It was four hours after the surgery was complete before Charles first began to regain consciousness. Erik sat by his side, watching his chest rise and fall, watching his breath fog the inside of the oxygen mask, feeling the saline slide through the needle embedded in—gratefully, thankfully—warm flesh. Feeling the soft flutter of his pulse against the links of silver, gold, platinum, and copper that encircled his wrist. He tried to look past the sickening mass of wires and tubes, to see the person, to see Charles.

Beast came and went in a muted blur, checking Charles' vitals at what was most likely regular intervals. It almost seemed he was there more often than he wasn't. And he never went far, as Erik's awareness of the metal frames of his glasses made clear.

Together, they'd gotten the damn thing _out_. Erik had done everything his doctor had asked without hesitation, and the moment it was out, the moment it was no longer touching Charles, Erik had crushed it. In retrospect, perhaps not the most calm or rational thing he'd ever done, but Beast hadn't complained—would never complain. Of that Erik was sure.

Beast hadn't even bothered telling Erik to try to get some sleep—perhaps he realized it would be futile. He'd simply explained that Charles would remain unconscious for at least two hours and that he might not remember anything that happened in the few hours after he did wake up, that he'd be groggy and quite possibly not in the best mood.

The chip was now a shiny, smooth ball of solid metal, tracing slow, repetitive patterns around Erik's hand. He didn't know what he planned to do with it in the long term, but for now the exercise was oddly soothing.

He let it fall to the floor, forgotten, when Charles' eyelids fluttered.

o0o

When Charles was a small child, his father had taken him to a carnival and they had walked together through the funhouse's maze of contorting mirrors. Charles had been glad to have his father there, glad he wasn't expected to navigate that place alone, even when both his and his father's reflections stared back distorted from every angle, ghoulish and surreal. He had held on tightly to his father's hand and wrapped himself perhaps a little too tightly around his father's mind, because even when he couldn't trust his eyes, he could trust his mind to show him what was real.

“It's all right to be afraid, Charles,” his father had said.

“I'm not afraid,” Charles had said. He hadn't been, not really.

The next year his father had died, slipped away early one morning on a hospital bed after a fire at his lab had taken too much, and the doctors couldn't save him. They had tried; Charles would have known if they weren't trying. Charles had felt him slipping away, like a body into quicksand in those terrifying movies that always left a sick feeling in Charles' gut, and foolishly had tried to wrap himself a little too tightly around his father's mind, trying to hold on. Like the other character in those movies, Charles would have had to fall in with his father in order to keep hold—he'd felt so helpless when his father slipped beyond his reach.

It turned out that 'will to live' wasn't enough, no matter what even some of the doctors believed. It took Charles years to find comfort in the memory that his father's last thoughts were of him, years to forgive himself the possibility that he hadn't given his father a _choice_ in that matter.

The funhouse mirrors were back, and Charles couldn't find his father's hand. He was just so tired, but his thoughts—foggy though they were—felt strangely free. Strange, because 'free' should not have felt strange. Should it?

His body was heavy, weighed down like the wolf in the story who'd had rocks sewn into this stomach while he slept. It was probably safer to stay still for now, lest he fall in some river and drown.

But his mind unfurled like a sleepy flower, shy of sudden spring frosts but no less hopeful, dew-laden and sun-kissed. Though, perhaps, a little more worn, a little more frayed than most spring flowers. Sleepy, though. And hopeful all the same.

He didn't have to unfurl far to find someone, a mind so close it was nearly on top of him, tantalizingly aquiver with concern, wrestling with terror and hope and, oh, _so_ tired. Clumsily, he brushed against the mind in an attempt to be soothing—because really, no one ever did anyone any good with that level of worry. If Charles could only fight his way out of his own exhaustion, maybe he could be of more help.

And oh, maybe he'd pushed a little too hard, since it seemed the mind was now asleep. That seemed like a good idea, actually, so Charles curled his mind gently around the other mind and suggested pleasant dreams. It didn't feel like any mind he'd encountered before, and Charles was admittedly too sleepy to get much of a sense beyond the surface emotions, but he felt a little responsible now, having accidentally knocked the poor soul out. Maybe when he woke he'd be able to meet this person properly. He hoped so. The mind felt like someone he'd like to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...who is that Charles is sensing? Any guesses? ;)


	12. Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of recovery.

When Charles opened his eyes next, Erik was slumped in a metal chair beside his bed. The angle of his neck looked especially uncomfortable, but his dreams seemed pleasant at least. Charles' sleepy eyes flew suddenly fully open; he could _feel_ Erik—for the very first time, he could, and it was at once completely beautiful and thoroughly disorienting. Somewhat akin to hearing a familiar voice come from an unfamiliar face...or maybe the other way around. But maybe more like meeting a beloved penpal face to face for the first time.

Tears were welling in the corners of Charles' eyes, and he couldn't lift his leaden hands—attached as they were to leaden arms—to wipe them away.

His mind seemed at least more cooperative than his body, so he stretched it out and wrapped it a bit more fully around Erik, like a fuzzy blanket. He hadn't meant to disturb him, but it must have been the mental equivalent of being accidentally elbowed beneath the covers, because Erik started awake—one hand coming up to rub unhappily at his neck—blinking at Charles.

“You're awake.” A tentative smile flitted across Erik's face. “Here.” He reached for a glass of water on a nearby table. “I'm supposed to... You need to take a few sips.”

Swallowing felt odd, almost alien, but Charles managed. Only a little water dribbled rebelliously from one corner of his mouth, and Erik quickly wiped that away. There was a tube down Charles' throat, so instead of trying to speak, he just thought, _Thank you_ , and projected his drowsy, affectionate gratitude.

“Wow, that's—” Erik set the glass back on the table and sat up straighter in his chair. “That feels different, here.” He pointed towards his temple.

Charles blinked contentedly at him, brushing happily over the surface of Erik's mind the way he'd like to run his fingers through his hair.

Hank appeared, quite distractingly, to remove the tube from Charles' throat. _That_ wasn't pleasant, but Hank's mind was. _Oh, hello_ , Charles thought. Hank was worrying over his own inadequacy as 'not really a brain surgeon,' and it seemed like he'd done it right, but what if there were side effects he wasn't qualified to deal with, side effects that he himself had caused by his own ineptitude, so Charles sent waves of reassurance at him and told him, _I really feel better than I would have expected, Hank; you are a wonderful doctor, the best I've ever encountered_. Though it seemed Hank had quite a low opinion of the sort of doctors Charles had encountered before, so maybe that last wasn't quite the compliment Charles had intended.

Hank was dutifully taking his vitals—it seemed Charles was doing at least as well as could be expected there—and actually was actively trying to calm his own thoughts lest they upset Charles, and Charles had to smile a bit at that. He projected a little burst of his appreciation.

Hank offered him a soft smile in return. _At least you seem capable of_ _more fully_ _utilising_ _your telepathy now_ , he observed.

 _Yes,_ _quite capable_ _, thank you_. It might still be a bit clumsy, but on the whole it seemed to be faring better than his body. Charles' face, for instance, still didn't seem to be properly cooperating, but he offered Hank a bright mental smile. Which Hank apparently found to be just a tad _blinding_ , so Charles quickly apologized.

Shaking his head, Hank replied fondly, _Nothing to apologise for, Charles_.

After Hank drifted away—not far—Charles refocused his attention on Erik who was a miasma of worry and fear tangled up with love and hope. _It's okay_ , he whispered into Erik's mind. _I'm okay_. Which probably wasn't technically true at that moment, but he was going to be okay, and that was what was important. He was going to be okay, and Erik had helped Hank and was still shaky at the thought of what could have happened if his control had slipped even the tiniest bit, but of course it hadn't and Charles was so proud of him as well as being very grateful. _You kept me safe_ , he whispered. _Thank you_. The words were secondary, really, to his projected gratitude, but sometimes words were important.

Erik's mind was so bright, so brilliant, like a bonfire in the autumn night, like a lighthouse on a cliff—luminous against a blue-black sky. It drew Charles in, like the warm smell of cookies might draw a child to the kitchen. It was delicious; it was addictive. Charles sank into it like he might sink into the most wonderful bed of pillows and soft duvets.

o0o

Erik really didn't mean to do it, but as his conscious mind became aware of Charles' insistent presence in his mind—worming its way ever deeper—he suddenly flinched, his mind curling in on itself like a worried armadillo.

“Oh,” Charles said softly, voice a little rough as his mind shank back, ashamed. “I'm sorry, I thought—” Turning his head, he stared up at the ceiling. “I didn't mean—”

Erik's fingers twitched as he reached for Charles' hand. “No, I'm sorry. I—” What the hell was _wrong_ with Erik anyway? Well, a lot was wrong with him, really; he could probably make quite a list. Perhaps pen a few encyclopedias on the subject. And that there was exactly the problem, wasn't it? He didn't want Charles to _know_ , because how could Charles possibly love him if he truly knew everything about him? But then...Charles _would_ ; somehow, Erik knew Charles would. Stroking his thumb across the back of Charles' hand, he sighed. Even though he knew how hypocritical it sounded, he couldn't think of anything else to but to say, “Please don't pull away from me, Charles.”

Glancing down at their joined hands and then at Erik's face, Charles smiled hesitantly. “I should probably— Well, I'm a little clumsy right now, and I don't—I don't want to hurt you.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I think I may have accidentally made you sleep, earlier...”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “You didn't hurt me, Charles. And I actually—I _like_ how your mind feels, here in my mind.” He lifted Charles' hand and pressed it to his own temple. “And I'm sure I needed the sleep.” Swallowing, Erik pressed a kiss to the inside of Charles wrist, lips brushing the smooth metal links of the bracelet. “I doubt you'd be capable of hurting anyone right now, physically or mentally, though of course it's important that you don't strain yourself, so please don't try.” He smiled ruefully at the end and hoped Charles picked up on the intended playfulness.

 _I did_ , Charles thought, meeting his eyes. A flicker of guilt threaded its way through the prevailing sense of understanding wrapped around the words. Charles' eyes looked so bright, framed as they were in his paler than usual face—though the amount of blood he'd lost had been well within the normal range, Beast had said. Charles offered Erik a hopeful smile, endearing little crinkles appearing around those luminous eyes.

Erik choked on a sob—he hadn't realized he was capable of loving that deeply, that desparately—as his fingers tightened too strongly on Charles' hand. Shakily trying to loosen his grip, he asked, _Charles, am I hurting you?_

 _No_. Charles let out a contented breath though parted lips, his eyes closed. _That feels wonderful_.

o0o

When Hank said Charles should try sitting in a chair, Erik all but lifted him from the bed into the chair. When Hank brought Charles a bowl of clear broth, Erik fed it to him one spoonful at a time. When Hank said Charles should try standing, Erik held onto him to keep him from falling. Eventually, Hank had to tell Erik to ease off a bit; Charles did absolutely need someone there, but too much help was sort of defeating the purpose.

 _It's nice, actually_ , Charles admitted. _You, taking care of me. But Hank's the doctor; we have to do as he says_.

 _I know_. Erik rubbed at his forehead. _It's hard to know what's too much_.

 _Could you walk with me to the bathroom?_ Charles asked with a slightly crooked smile. _Not carry me; that would probably be too much_.

“Yeah,” Erik said, a thread of gruffness in his voice and flash of a wry smile in his eyes. “I can do that.”

o0o

The next morning, after—thankfully, finally—disconnecting the last of the wires and tubes, Hank said Charles could move to his own room. And that did sound like a truly lovely idea to Charles. “If we had a wheelchair, that might be best,” Hank said, wringing his hands—just a little, and clearly unaware of the action. “But if someone walks with you, you should be fine.”

“I'll walk with him,” Erik said firmly, radiating a sort of protective possessiveness that both thrilled and amused Charles.

Erik could carry him if needed—had done it before, of course—but Charles was able to walk the whole way with just a little support.

“Charles,” Erik said, sitting down next to him on Charles' own bed—so nice, so much more room for that than the hospital bed in Hank's lab, “I want you to look into my mind again.” He grimaced, squeezing Charles' hands in his own. “I promise I won't pull away this time.”

“Oh, darling,” Charles said, freeing one of his hands from Erik's grip to stroke it gently over Erik's temple and blushing slightly at how Erik leaned into the touch. “You've barely slept in the past—” He let out a small laughing breath. “I actually don't know how long it's been.” Stroking his fingers against Erik's skin, he added, “You should rest; I'll still be here in a few hours, and so will my mutation.”

“I know.” Looking down at his lap, Erik made a frustrated sound. _I don't know if I_ _actually_ _can rest, though_.

 _Here? With me?_ Charles gave him a hopeful smile.

Erik smiled lopsidedly as he bent to pull off his boots. _I can try_.

Charles grinned, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from either saying or projecting that 'trying' isn't how resting really worked.

Erik laid down on his back and Charles curled himself at his side, wrapping Erik's cape around himself and breathing in Erik's soothingly familiar scent.

 _I just_ — Erik began. _I think this is important, Charles_. _You don't have to push, but just...look, please_.

So Charles looked, and it was as before: a beacon, bright and wondrous, calling to him. _You're beautiful, Erik_ , he thought, burrowing himself in the welcoming layers of Erik's mind.

 _Look deeper_ , Erik begged, skittering flashes of shame dancing about the words, little bursts of fear and hope mingled with the absolute faith he had in Charles.

Charles looked deeper. He saw it then, the reason Erik had flinched: all the guilt and self-loathing, all the feelings of unworthiness, all the compounded pain and anger from a lifetime of suffering—the deaths of both his parents, the Holocaust, Schmidt. He saw Erik's confusion, saw Erik's struggle with what he knew to be true of Charles— _Charles won't hate me; Charles doesn't hate anyone_ —and what he somehow still believed about himself— _If anyone, especially someone as good and kind as Charles, really knew me, they could not love me_. And he saw how Erik pulled away from that last in shame, because somehow it was shameful to be ashamed. But of course it was; this was _Erik_ , who kissed his lover wherever and in front of whomever he damn well pleased and raged against the idea of any mutant having to hide.

His first instinct was to assure Erik that he was fine, that despite all his brokenness Charles could and did still love him. And that might have been what Erik wanted, and might have been enough. But this whole thing just felt a bit too one-sided, and it really didn't have to be, so Charles opened his own mind to Erik, and showed him. He let Erik see his father and his father's death. Let him see his mother and what had passed for love there, and the years he'd spent wondering if that was his fault, for not being good enough—how he sometimes still thought in moments of terrified desperation that perhaps he really could try harder, and then she'd finally be happy. Let him see his own guilt over the fear he'd inspired in Kurt and Cain, and the deeper guilt he'd felt when Kurt looked at his own son and found him wanting: never as smart as Charles, never even _close_ to as smart. And then, because there was no sense starting this without going all the way, let him see the last part: his twin brother.

Erik was shocked, and understandably so, but he wasn't pushing Charles away. Not that Charles had really expected him to. Tears still dampened Erik's shirt where Charles rested his head against his chest. Erik's guilt stemmed from those he'd been unable to save; it seemed he felt very little about the people he'd actually killed. But Charles' guilt was of a different sort.

“But Charles,” Erik finally said, his voice strangled, “you don't have any memory of that; how can you—who told you it was _you_?”

As entwined as their minds were then, Erik heard Charles' answer before he could intentionally project it.

“He's a _liar_ , Charles.” Erik's voice was hard. “He's lied to you about everything else.”

Charles shook his head. “I'm a telepath, Erik; if he'd lied to me...” He sighed. “He believed it, and—I—” He swallowed. “I didn't—” He bit his lip. “At the time I suppose I was too horrified to look deeper, to see if he had anything like evidence.” _He worked with my father, before..._ After the fire, Kurt had found a job at a different lab. _They studied mutations; I just assumed he knew, that he wasn't just guessing_. Maybe Erik just wanted to believe the best of him—that was common, when someone was in love. But maybe...maybe Kurt hadn't been right about that after all. And what kind of thing was _that_ to tell someone, if you didn't know with absolute certainty, if you didn't have proof? What kind of thing was that to _believe_ if you didn't really know? Charles knew what hoping something wasn't true felt like—the sickening fear that you were right, the desperate hope that you were wrong—but that hadn't been it; Kurt had _believed_.

 _Your father studied mutations?_ Erik was, again, shocked.

 _My father was a good man, Erik_. He was. _Like Hank, I suppose. He didn't hurt anyone_.

 _You loved him very much_. Erik's fingers in his hair were gentle, soothing.

 _I did_. Charles yawned. It didn't seem so long since he'd woken up, but already he felt so tired again. _I suppose_ _I_ _should probably sleep. And you too. Okay?_

 _Yeah, me too_. Erik pressed the tenderest of kisses to the top of Charles' head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked the mind-meld (because there might just be another one in the next chapter...).
> 
> Completely irrelevant to the story, but today is my birthday! Many years ago today, back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, I was born, and the whole world suddenly got so much more awesome! :D  
> /random blogish crap in A/Ns because it's my birthday, that's why


	13. A Part of Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hank knows what he's talking about, Scott realizes something important, and Erik and Charles celebrate. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who would rather read the T-rated version of this chapter, it's available on FFN: [T Rated "Chipped" Chapter 13](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10228382/13/Chipped).

“I can't say with certainty either way,” Beast said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. Erik had walked to the lab with Charles that morning; Beast had said it was good for Charles to get up and move around, and Erik was sure it would be even better for Charles to talk to the doctor about this awful thing his step-father had claimed. “But I can tell you that it is very unlikely. Statistically, males are simply more likely to die in utero, and multiples are always at increased risk of stillbirth—this is why female twins are the most common type of multiple birth.” Beast's hand fell back to his side. “And while I don't doubt that a fully mature telepath could certainly kill someone with that power, it seems highly unlikely that a _baby_ could do any sort of damage to anyone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can't speculate on why your step-father believes what he does, Charles, but it is my professional opinion that he is almost certainly wrong.”

_You'd know if he was lying?_ Erik asked, more for Charles' benefit than his own.

_I would_. Charles' brow wrinkled slightly as if he were contemplating some puzzle. _He actually...he actually believes that Kurt is_ _just entirely_ _wrong, believes it quite strongly, but he has to say he's not sure, because he can't prove it; it's a professional thing for him_. A smile broke out on Charles' face like sunlight cutting its way through clouds. “Thank you, Hank.” Charles stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Beast, resting his head against the white fabric of his lab coat.

Beast awkwardly patted at Charles' shoulders—barely touching him—while glancing nervously at Erik, but Erik just grinned. The doctor deserved a hug. Erik might have considered hugging him himself.

_I still can't really know for sure_. Charles' voice was soft in Erik's mind. _But at least now I know what's likely to be true_. He sighed, pulling back from Beast, offering the doctor a grateful smile. _It helps_.

o0o

“So...” Charles said, drumming his fingers on the smooth metal surface of the table. It felt great to finally be back to work in the lab, though Hank clearly was still watching him closely to make sure he was doing okay—which he was, really; he felt as least as healthy as he had when the Brotherhood had first found him, if not more so now that the chip could no longer cause him debilitating headaches and inconvenient fainting spells. The special goggles or 'visor' they'd been making for Scott lay before them on the table, apparently complete. “Is this—are we—is it done?”

Hank rubbed at his nose. “We'll have to test it out, certainly, to see if it does indeed work as intended. And to make sure it fits him.”

“Of course.” Scott hadn't exactly seemed enthusiastic about the idea of ever using his power, but... Charles sighed. “All we can do is give Scott the option, right?”

Hank grimaced. “I would like to at least know if I—if we did this right. Just—” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “In the interest of science.”

“I'll talk to him. I might—” Ducking his head, Charles let out a quiet, laughing breath. “Well, I think I may have gone through some similar reluctance. Recently.”

o0o

Magneto, Charles, Beast, and both Summers brothers were gathered once again in the training room. Erik stood near the door, quietly watching as Beast and Charles presented Scott with the complex goggles they had made that would allow the child to use his power. Thinking of how the human scientists had broken Scott's power in the first place still made Erik seethe with rage, but Charles sent a gentle wave of calm his way, and he couldn't help smiling, if only slightly. Charles always worried that too much anger was bad for Erik's health, and since too much worry wasn't good for Charles' health, Erik had been working on calming his mind.

Charles was crouched down in front of Scott, speaking softly and explaining the different parts of the goggles and the controls. Erik didn't think he could ever get tired of seeing Charles like this: gentle yet confident, radiating calm, profoundly patient. “It would be very helpful to myself and Doctor McCoy if you could at least try the visor on,” Charles said, “to see if we made it the right size.”

Scott bit his lip then nodded once. “It's just—I don't—” Tilting his head forward so his brown bangs hung in front of his glasses, he opened and closed his hands nervously.

“You don't like taking your glasses off,” Charles said. “I understand.”

Scott took a shaky breath. “Okay, I'll—” He tilted his head to one side. “You'll help me put the new goggles on?”

Charles smiled warmly. “Of course I will.”

Taking another breath, Scott pulled his glasses off—steadfastly squeezing his eyes closed—and held them out to Alex who took them.

Charles carefully fit the new goggles over Scott's eyes. “How does that feel?”

Scott shrugged. “It feels fine.”

“Doesn't pinch, scratch, or poke anywhere?” Charles asked. “Anything like that?”

“No, it's fine.” Scott wrinkled his nose. “Like I said.”

“Are your eyes still closed?” Charles asked.

Scott nodded.

“All right.” Charles took Scott by the shoulders. “How about you look this way—” Charles gently turned Scott so he was facing the empty end of the training room. “—and try opening your eyes? Go ahead.”

“Okay.” After a moment, Scott said, “They're working the same as the glasses now, right?”

“Yes,” Charles said reassuringly. “If you want to use your power, you have to turn it on, like I showed you.”

Looking down, Scott scuffed one foot against the floor. “I don't want to wreck the walls—that's all my power does: wrecks stuff.”

“We do have some targets you can practice with,” Beast said helpfully.

Turning towards the doctor, Scott asked, “You want me to wreck your targets?”

“We do.” Charles grinned. “We made them specifically for that, for you.”

Beast and Alex set three large targets up across the end of the room, bright-coloured concentric circles dominating each. “They have a ruby-quartz backing,” Beast explained. “So if you do manage to hit the targets, you won't wreck the walls at all.”

“And if you happen to hit the walls,” Erik commented, “I can fix them easily enough.” He demonstrated by gouging a jagged crater into the wall with his power and then smoothing it over once again.

Scott let out a surprised breath, turning towards Erik. Behind the goggles, Erik imagined Scott's eyes were likely wide.

“Erik's also offered to help you train with moving targets,” Charles added, “if you'd be interested in trying that sometime.”

Ducking his head, Scott nodded slightly. “I think I'd like try these targets from closer—is that all right?”

“That's perfectly all right,” Charles assured him. “Stand as close as you like.”

It turned out 'as close as Scott liked' was less than a foot away from the target, where Erik was sure it would be all but impossible for Scott to actually miss. When the boy finally reached up and worked the controls to let out a narrow burst of energy that hit the lower edge of the bullseye, he jumped back, mouth open. “That's all—that's all I want to do for today.”

Charles was praising Scott, but Erik doubted the boy was hearing anything he said. Scott was only too eager to put his old glasses back on, visibly relaxing once that was done.

At least he'd used his power. That had to count for something.

o0o

Alex caught Charles in the hallway that evening while Scott was playing Crazy Eights in the kitchen with Darwin, Raven, and Angel. “I need to talk to you about my brother.”

Charles nodded, sensing Alex's anxiety, sharp and bitter like orange zest. “We could talk in my room,” Charles offered.

“Sure.” The sense of relief that Charles was willing to listen was somewhat disturbing—it suggested Alex was not used to such. Once he was settled in the metal chair at Charles' desk, sitting sideways with one arm resting on the desk as he faced Charles, he spoke again. “I don't really know—um, I'm glad you're feeling better—recovering—from the—from your surgery.”

Charles nodded, smiling encouragingly. “I'm glad of that as well.”

“Yeah.” Alex let out breath that was almost a laugh. He scratched at the back of his neck. “I suppose you're more...that you're more happy about that, um, yourself. And your power...” He fiddled with a loose thread at the edge of a rip in the knee of his jeans. “I—” He took a breath. “I hope it's...working again...for you.”

“It is.” There was an important swirl in Alex's thoughts, behind yet still connected to his words, but Charles kept his power in check, waiting for Alex to order his own thoughts and pose whatever the question might be.

“So...I don't know if you've, um, read my mind or my brother's mind—not that I'd be angry or whatever.” He looked up quickly, meeting Charles' eyes. “That's your power, and you—you can use it; it's not hurting anyone to...to look.”

Ah. The worry was understandable, given the nature of Charles' power. “I have...overheard some surface thoughts, and certainly sensed a few emotions from the two of you, but in general I don't pry without permission. So no, I haven't exactly 'read' either of your minds, as such.”

“Oh, okay.” Alex let out a breath, projecting an odd mixture of guilty relief and disappointed frustration. “That...that makes sense, actually. About the permission thing.” He scratched the top of his head through his spiky blond hair. “The thing is, I think you're the best one to... You could probably help my brother. With the whole thing with his powers. He seems to trust you, and...” He looked to the side, blowing air out through his lips. “His power...when the researchers at the lab...when they did... _that_ to him...” He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running one thumbnail over the other, staring unseeing at the floor. “I was in another room; I didn't see it. But there was a lot of screaming, loud noises. I heard people...”

And then the image was suddenly bright in Charles' own mind, confused as memories often were, and tinged with Alex's fear and horror. Screams of pain, angry shouting. Someone yelling, 'He'll kill us all!' “Oh,” Charles whispered. _I'm sorry; I didn't mean_...

“No, no; it's fine.” Alex waved his hand dismissively. “That's—that's what it was like.” He scratched at the hair on the back of his head. “I probably, um, projected that. Just now. I guess. Anyway, suddenly the door—well, most of the wall really—was just...gone, and Scotty was lying there strapped to that table. There were...bodies...on the floor. I tried not to look, you know? I just wanted to help him. It was like my power, but just...just coming out of his eyes, and it wasn't stopping, and he was so scared. I didn't even think to be scared for myself; I just went to him and unstrapped him, and...he kind of destroyed my shirt, but I realized he couldn't hurt me, and I managed to get him to close his eyes.” He paused, blinking a few times. “It wasn't too long after that when Magneto arrived and brought us here, but...I thought it was good that Scotty couldn't see...what was there. I thought maybe he didn't realize...everything—everything that happened.”

Charles let out a slow breath. This information was...disturbing, to say the least. Even if Scott blamed his power rather than himself, that didn't bode well, considering his power was part of who he was. Much as Charles' own power was a part of himself that he was only now learning to embrace and accept. _I don't need to tell you that this isn't Scott's fault_.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” _Those assholes hurt_ _m_ _y brother and hurt themselves in the process_. “But still...I understand why he'd feel guilty. And scared.”

“Yeah.” Rising, Charles placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. _So do I_.

o0o

The next morning, Charles was washing his breakfast dishes while Darwin was putting away the now dry pots and pans from the previous night's supper. Charles scrubbed at the stubborn egg yolk on the tines of the forks in his hands—it always seemed to harden so damn fast. “Hank seems to think there's evidence of another lab, somewhere up in western Canada,” Charles said. “He needs to find more information to give Azazel a real location, though.”

“Yeah.” Darwin crouched down, moving pots and pans around in the cupboards—sometimes people just stuck things in haphazardly, and then the bigger things wouldn't fit. “Lots of wilderness up there. Lots of places to hide something like that.”

Charles nodded, even though Darwin wasn't looking and probably wouldn't see it. Before he had thought of what to say next, loud footsteps and childish squealing came from out in the hallway, and an instant later Scott careened around the doorframe and slammed into Darwin. It happened so damn fast, but Darwin's skin visibly changed, hardening as it did when struck, and Scott basically _bounce_ _d_ off of him, as though off a brick wall.

“Ow,” Scott said, picking himself back up and touching his nose gingerly. He had bright red spots of blood on his fingers when he pulled them back.

Alex entered the kitchen behind his brother, confusion—and a touch of worry—on his face.

“Oh, man, sorry!” Darwin, back to his usual human-looking self, just stood there looking helpless. “Sometimes my mutation really overacts! Are you okay, Scott?”

“This was...this was _my_ fault,” Scott said. And then he actually smiled—a bit tentative, but it was a smile. “I need to learn to watch where I'm going. And maybe not go so fast.” He scuffed his foot against the floor.

“That's right, Scott,” Alex said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder and turning him so he could look at his face. “How's your nose?”

“It's fine—not really bleeding.” Scott smiled at his brother. Then he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders. “I could have broken my glasses, though.”

“Hank and I could always make you another pair,” Charles offered, drying his hands off on a dishtowel. In fact, they should probably have a spare pair or two just in case. “You're sure you don't want Hank to take a look at your nose? I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”

Scott shook his head. “But, Charles...um, do you think I could train a bit with my visor today?”

Charles exchanged a quick startled look with Alex. “Yeah, of course. Do you want me to be there?”

Scott nodded, scuffing one foot against the floor again. “If you're not busy.”

Charles smiled brightly. “I would be happy to.”

Scott grinned. “Now?”

“Now works for me.” Charles hadn't exactly had anything else planned that day. Well, helping Hank, but this technically qualified, if somewhat indirectly. He sent Hank a quick mental message to let him know where he'd be.

_Scott actually asked to train?_ Hank sent back.

_I was surprised too_. Charles added a mental shrug.

Right before leaving the kitchen, Scott turned and gave Darwin a very gentle hug. “Don't feel bad about my nose.” He smiled up at Darwin lopsidedly. “Sometimes your powers do things you didn't want them to. And sometimes that's someone else's fault. So don't feel bad, okay?”

Darwin grinned and ruffled his hair. “Okay, I'll try not to.”

Charles tried to swallow past the lump of emotion in his throat, all while unable to suppress a smile at the warmth expanding in his chest. He was suddenly hit with an urge to hug Alex, since it was obvious he was feeling the same. As they walked through the hallways following Scott to the training room, Charles settled for sending something of a mental hug, adding, _I think your brother will be okay_.

_Yeah_ , Alex responded, radiating awe and wonder and pride. _I think he will_.

_I'll still help him any way I can_ , Charles clarified.

_Of course_. Alex smiled at him as they walked side by side. _That's the Brotherhood way_.

o0o

Charles was practically _glowing_. Maybe part of that was his telepathy; maybe he was projecting his happiness, maybe it was a telepathic illusion even. Erik wondered idly if perhaps Charles could project illusions without consciously intending to. It still seemed unlikely that Charles would paint himself a halo, so maybe that was Erik's imagination after all. Erik grinned up at him from where he lounged on his bed. “I am also very happy for the Summers' boy. I am.” He was, very relieved and happy. “And I've been listening to everything you've said.” He had been. He was. “You're just...distracting.”

Frowning, Charles turned fully to face Erik, fixing him with an intent look. “A halo, Erik? Really?”

Chuckling, Erik sat up and took Charles' hand, pulling him closer. “You're happy. And...I guess, healthy?” Charles, recovering as he was from the surgery, was probably healthier now than he'd been in all the time Erik had known him.

“I am happy.” Charles took him by the sides of his face, and moved closer to kiss Erik's forehead. “You make me happy. Well, not just you, obviously, but you're a big part of it.” He kissed Erik's nose. “An important part of it.”

Erik rubbed his face cat-like against Charles' palm, enjoying the dual sensation of his stubble catching against Charles' bracelet through his sense of touch and his sense of the metal itself. “Helping Scott makes you happy. That's good.”

_It's the Brotherhood way_. Charles smiled softly at him. “But...” Looking away, his eyes unfocused, Charles made a soft frustrated sound. “I didn't—Alex asked me to help Scott, but I don't really feel like I did much. At all.”

_He figured it out for himself_. Erik laid back on the bed, pulling Charles down with him. _Like you did_. Scott was kind of like Charles, really. It was sort of like mirrors or echos or some other suitably metaphorical...thing.

Charles was grinning against the side of his neck. _I like your thoughts—_ _I like that image of the mirrors, too._ _I like_ _that you want to share_ _your thoughts_ _with me_.

_There's something else I'd like to share with you_. Erik had been thinking about this for some time as Charles was recovering, but it didn't seem he had quite picked up on it. He was still so polite, only reading surface thoughts and emotions, keeping himself at a courteous distance.

_Oh? Something...pleasurable?_ Charles was tracing patterns on Erik's chest with his fingers and was no doubt picking up Erik's mood now.

_Yes_. Erik's grip tightened on Charles' shoulders. _Precisely_. _I want to make love, and I want us both to feel everything the other is feeling. You can do that, right?_

The spark of desire Charles projected was delicious. _Yes, that shouldn't be too much trouble, love_.

And then he suddenly felt the solid warmth of his own body beneath Charles, the sense of safety he somehow gave his lover, the anticipation and desire—all of it, all of Charles, as he unfurled himself while sinking into Erik's mind. It was disorienting, Charles feeling Erik feeling Charles...like placing two mirrors facing, reflecting each other into infinity.

Erik's laughter was a low rumble in his chest. “That's amazing, Charles.”

_It should only get better_. Oh, Charles was being cheeky. Well, and honest, apparently.

The only— _possible_ —downside to having their minds linked was that nothing either of them did was a surprise for the other. Except _everything_ was a surprise. Because Erik knew Charles was going to lick his neck, but he couldn't anticipate the taste of his skin on Charles' tongue much less the pleasure Charles felt at sensing his surprise.

Erik was relatively sure Charles didn't taste quite so...spicy, but he had to lick Charles' neck then, just to be sure. So they would both know. It was really quite scientific, and Charles found that logic terribly amusing even as he was marvelling at the taste of his own skin on Erik's tongue. They agreed it wasn't quite so spicy as Erik's skin, but it was a lovely flavour all the same—though of course they couldn't quite agree on whose skin tasted better, since Charles preferred Erik and Erik preferred Charles. After a few moments of very scientific licking of one another, they collapsed into a shared fit of laughter.

And maybe laughter wasn't the most stereotypically arousing thing either of them could think of, but the playful, relaxed, easy mood flowing between them like a tide turned out to be quite arousing after all.

Charles wanted very much to see what it would feel like to rub certain parts of their bodies together while sharing sensations. This was of course what Erik had wanted to begin with, so he couldn't be entirely sure Charles had thought of it on his own or if he'd been influenced by Erik's own desire. Not that it _mattered_ , really. No, not that it could possibly matter when it felt _that_ good.

The whole thing would have been over embarrassingly fast if not for the fact that neither of them were capable of being embarrassed right then.

As they lay next to one another, panting, sticky and sweaty and sleepy and satisfied, Charles held Erik's wrist with the same desperate gentleness that he still held his mind. Erik knew he was going to say it before he said it, and he also knew _why_ , but Charles still said, “I love you, Erik. I truly, deeply love you.”

Erik could have said, 'I know,' or he could have just thought it, or he could have not bothered at all, because Charles knew that he knew. But sometimes words were important, so Erik said, “You're the one that I want, Charles. The only one. Just you. Just this. Forever.” Perhaps it wasn't the most eloquent thing he'd ever said, and maybe 'just' wasn't an appropriate word to describe either Charles or 'this'...but Charles understood. Heedless of the mess, Erik pulled Charles into his arms and held him a little too tightly. Though for Charles, it wasn't too tight at all. And Charles understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the science Beast tells Charles about pregnancy and multiples is all real-world stuff. I got it off of Wikipedia, and you can look it all up there as well if you want. The statistics might be a bit modern for this timeline, but they're still true.
> 
> So there you have it - the whole thing, finally all done and posted. I'd love to know what you think of it! :D (This is a pretty huge accomplishment for me, because it's the first time I've actually finished a real multi-chapter!)
> 
> Also, I hope it's not inappropriate to bring this up, but I'm assuming you're all Cherik fans, so you might have opinions on which of the Cherik fics I've been working on you'd like to see me start posting next. I've got two "real life" (Modern Day, All Human, Now Powers) AUs (one where they get together and one where they're in an established relationship) and a Medieval Fantasy AU (still have powers). The Medieval Fantasy AU encompasses Marvel as a whole (primarily an X-Men films/MCU fusion). I've also been working on a massive Marvel "In Space!" AU which will include Cherik, but that one is primarily a Steve/Bucky fic. (I should mention that I will very likely not be able to update any of these as frequently as I did with "Chipped.")


End file.
